iia 


A  BUDGET  OF 

Christmas  Tales. 


^^AjFC/!    "• ^        *'<•> 


Charles  Dickens 

AND  OTHERS. 


PUBLISHED  BY 
TBCE    CHRISTI^lSr    HIDI^^LID, 

Louis  Klopsch,  Proprietor. 
B7BLE  HOUSE.   NEW  YORK. 


Copyright  1895. 
By  Louis  Klopsch. 


Press  and  Bindery  of 
HISTORICAL  PUBLISHING  CO., 

PHILADELPHIA. 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 


PAOB 

A  Christmas  Carol 13 

Charles  Dickens. 

The  Christmas  Babe 73 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 

A  Western  Christmas 74 

Mrs.  W.  H.  Corning. 

Joe*s  Search  for  Santa  Claus 83 

Irving  Bacheller. 

Angela's  Christmas 87 

Julia  Schayer. 

The  First  Puritan  Christmas  Tree lOO 

(Anonymous.) 

Kist  New  England  Christmas 103 

Hezekiah  Butterworth. 

The  Chhnes 106 

Charles  Dickens. 

Billy's  Santa  Claus  Experience 170 

Cornelia  Redmond. 

Christmas  in  Poganuc 173 

Mrs.  H.  B.  Stowe. 

The  Christmas  Princess 1^2 

Mrs.  Molesworth. 


20760V8 


12  Table  of  Contents, 

Widow  Townsend's  Visitor 210 

(Anonymous.) 

The  Old  Man's  Christmas «23 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

The  Christmas  Goblin «3f 

Charles  Dickens, 

The  Song  of  the  Star • «44 

C.  H.  Mead. 

Indian  Pete's  Christmas  Gift 852 

H.  W.  COLLINGWOOD. 

My  Christmas  Dinner 264 

(Anonymous.) 

The  Poor  Traveler *7* 

Charles  Dickens. 

The  Legend  of  the  Christmas  Tree 287 

(  AN0NYM<  iUS.) 

The  Peace  Egg 29'' 

Juliana  Horatia  Ewing. 


CHRISTMAS  TALES. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

BY   CHARI^ES  DICKENS. 


Stav^  One. 
marley's  ghost. 

Marley  -svas  dead,  to  begin  vvith.  There  is  no 
doubt  wnatever  about  that.  The  regisier  of  his 
burial  was  si,^ned  V'y  the  clergyman,  the  clerk, 
the  undertaker,  and  the  chief  mourner.  Scrooge 
signed  it.  And  Scrooge's  name  was  good  upon 
'Change,  for  anything  he  chose  to  put  his  hand  to. 

Old  Marley  was  dead  as  a  d^or-nail. 

Scrooge  knew  he  was  dead  ?  Of  course  he  did. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Scrooge  and  he  were 
partners  for  I  don't  know  how  many  years. 
Scrooge  was  his  sole  executor,  his  sole  administra- 
tor, his  sole  assign,  his  sole  residuary  legatee, 
his  sole  friend,  and  sole  mourner.  And  even 
Scrooge  was  not  so  dreadfully  cut  up  by  the  sad 
event,  but  that  he  was  an  excellent  man  of  busi- 
ness on  the  very  day  of  the  funeral,  and  solemn- 
ized it  with  an  undoubted  bargain. 

The  mention  of  Marley's  funeral  brings  me  back 
to  the  point  I  started  from.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  Marley  was  dead.  This  must  be  distinctly 
understood,  or  nothing  wonderful  can  come  of  the 
story  I  am  going  to  relate. 

Scrooge  never  painted  out  Old  Marley's  name. 


14  Christmas  Tales. 

There  it  stood,  years  afterward,  above  the  ware- 
house door  :  Scrooge  and  Marley.  The  firm  was 
known  as  Scrooge  and  Marley.  Sometimes  people 
new  to  the  business  called  Scrooge  Scrooge,  and 
sometimes  Marley,  but  he  answered  to  both  names. 
It  was  all  the  same  to  him. 

Oh !  But  he  was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grind- 
stone, Scrooge!  a  squeezing,  wrenching,  grasp- 
ing, scraping,  clutching,  covetous,  old  sinner ! 
Hard  and  sharp  as  flint,  from  which  no  steel  had 
ever  struck  out  generous  fire;  secret  aud  self-con- 
tained, and  solitary  as  an  03^ster.  The  cold  within 
him  froze  his  old  features,  nipped  his  pointed  nose, 
shriveled  his  cheek,  stiffened  his  gait ;  made  his 
eyes  red,  his  thin  lips  blue  ;  and  spoke  out  shrewd- 
ly in  his  grating  voice.  A  frosty  rime  on  his  head, 
and  on  his  eyebrows,  and  his  wiry  chin. 

External  heat  and  cold  had  little  influence  ou 
Scrooge.  No  warmth  could  warm,  no  wintry 
weather  chill  him.  No  wind  that  blew  was  bitterer 
than  he,  no  falling  snow  was  more  intent  upon  its 
purpose,  no  pelting  rain  less  open  to  entreaty. 
Foul  weather  didn't  know  where  to  have  him. 
The  heaviest  rain,  and  snow,  and  hail, and  sleet, 
could  boast  of  the  advantage  over  him  in  only  one 
respect.  They  often  "came  down"  handsomely, 
and  Scrooge  never  did. 

Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  say, 
with  gladsome  looks,  "My  dear  Scrooge,  how  are 
you?  When  will  you  come  to  see  me  ?"  No  beg- 
gars implored  him  to  bestow  a  trifle,  no  children 
asked  him  what  it  was  o'clock,  no  man  or 
woman  ever  once  iti  all  his  life  inquired  the  way  to 
such  and  such  a  place,  of  Scrooge. 

But  what  did  Scrooge  care?  It  was  the  very 
thing  he  liked.  To  edge  his  way  along  the 
crowded  paths  of  life,  warning  all  human  sympa- 
thy to  keep  its  distance,  was  what  the  knowing 
ones  call  "  nuts  "  to  Scrooge. 


A  Christmas  Carol.  15 

Once  npon  a  time— of  all  the  good  days  ita 
the  year,  on  Christmas  Eve— old  Scrooge  sat 
busy  in  his  counting-house.  It  was  cold,  bleak, 
biting  weather :  foggy  withal :  and  he  could  hear 
the  people  in  the  court  outside,  go  wheezing  up 
and  down,  beating  their  hands  upon  their  breasts, 
and  stamping  their  feet  upon  the  pavement  stones 
to  warm  them.  The  city  clocks  had  only  just 
gone  three,  but  it  was  quite  dark  already — it 
had  not  been  light  all  day— and  candles  wert 
flaring  in  the  windows  of  the  neighboring  offices^ 
like  ruddy  smears  upon  the  palpable  brown 
air. 

The  door  of  Scrooge's  counting-house  was  open, 
that  he  might  keep  his  eye  upon  his  clerk,  who  in 
a  dismal  little  cell  beyond,  a  sort  of  tank,  was 
copying  letters.  Scrooge  had  a  very  small  fire,  but 
the  clerk's  fire  was  so  very  much  smaller  that  it 
looked  like  one  coal.  But  he  couldn't  replenish 
it,  for  Scrooge  kept  the  coal-box  in  his  own  room  ; 
and  so  surely  as  the  clerk  came  in  with  the  shovel, 
the  master  predicted  that  it  would  be  necessary  for 
them  to  part.  Wherefore  the  clerk  put  on  his 
white  comforter,  and  tried  to  warm  himself  at  the 
candle;  in  which  effort,  not  being  a  man  of  strong 
imagination,  he  failed. 

"Amerry  Christmas,  uncle  !  God  save  you  !"  cried 
a  cheerful  voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Scrooge's 
nephew,  who  came  upon  him  so  quickly  that  this 
was  the  first  intimation  he  had  of  his  approach. 

*' Bah  !"  said  Scrooge.     "Humbug!" 

He  had  so  heated  himself  with  rapid  walking  iu 
the  fog  and  frost,  this  nephew  of  Scrooge's, 
that  he  was  all  in  a  glow  ;  his  face  was  ruddy  and 
handsome ;  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  breath 
smoked  again. 

''Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle!"  said  Scrooge's 
nephew.     "  You  don't  mean  that,  I  am  sure  ?  " 

"I  do,"   said    Scrooge.       "Merry    Christmas! 


16  Christmas  Tales, 

What  right  have  you  to  be  merry?  What  reason 
have  you  to  be  merry  ?    You're  poor  enough." 

"Come  then,"  returned  the  nephew  gaily. 
'*  What  right  have  you  to  be  dismal  ?  What  reason 
have  you  to  be  morose  ?    You're  rich  enough." 

Scrooge  having  no  better  answer  ready  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  said,  '*  Bah  !  *'  again  ;  and 
followed  it  up  with,  "Keep  Christmas  in  your  own 
way,  and  let  me  keep  it  in  mine." 

*'Keep  it !  "  repeated  Scrooge's  nephew.  "But 
you  don't  keep  it. "  ^ 

"Let  me  leave  it  alone,  then."  paid  Scrooge. 
"Much  good  may  it  do  you  !  Much  good  it  has 
ever  done  you  !  " 

"There  are  many  things  from  which  I  might 
have  derived  good,  by  which  I  have  not  profited,  I 
dare  say,"  returned  the  nephew,  "Christmas 
among  the  rest.  But  I  am  sure  I  have  always 
thought  of  Christmas  time,  when  it  has  come 
round — apart  fiomthe  veneration  due  to  its  sacred 
name  and  origin,  if  anything  belonging  lo  it  can 
be  apart  from  that — as  a  good  time  ;  a  kind,  for- 
giving, charitable,  pleasant  tmie  ;  the  only  time  I 
know  of,  in  the  long  calendar  of  the  year,  when 
men  and  women  seem  by  oii-i  consent  to  open  their 
shut-up  hearts  freely,  and  to  think  of  people  below 
them  as  if  they  really  were  fellow-passengers  to 
the  grave,  and  not  another  race  of  creatures  bound 
on  other  journeys.  And  therefore,  uncle,  though 
it  has  never  put  a  scrap  of  gold  or  silver  in  my 
pocket,  I  believe  that  it  has  done  me  good,  and 
will  do  me  good  ;  aud  I  say,  God  l)less  it !  " 

The  clerk  in  the  tank  involuntarily  applauded. 
Becoming  immediately  sensible  of  ihe  impropriety, 
he  poked  the  fire,  and  extinguished  the  last  frail 
spark  for  ever. 

*'Let  me  hear  another  sound  from  you,'*  said 
Scrooge,  "and  you'll  keep  your  Christmas  by 
losing  your  situation.     You're   quite  a  powerful 


A  Christmas  Carol.  17 

speaker,  sir, "  he  added,  turnings  to  his  nephew. 
'*I  wonder  you  don't  go  into  Parliament." 

*'  Don't  be  angry,  uncle.  Come  !  Dine  with  us 
to-morrow." 

Scrooge  said  that  he  would  see  bim — yes,  indeed 
he  did.  lie  went  the  whole  length  of  the  expres- 
sion, and  said  that  he  would  see  him  in  that  ex- 
tremity first. 

*•  But  why  ?  "  cried  Scrooge's  nephew,    "Why?  '* 

*'  Why  did  you  get  married  ?"  said  Scrooge. 

*'  Because  I  fell  in  love." 

'*  Because  you  fell  ia  love  !  "  growled  Scrooge,  as 
if  that  rrere  the  only  one  thing  in  the  world  more 
ridiculous  than  a  merry  Christmas.  "  Good  after- 
uoon  !  " 

"  Nay,  uncle,  but  you  never  came  to  see  me 
before  that  happened.  Why  give  it  as  a  reason  for 
not  coming  now  ?  " 

*'  Gooil  afternoon,"  said  S'^rooge. 

"I  want  nothing  from  you;  I  ask  nothing  of 
yon  ;  why  cannot  webs  friends  ?  " 

*'  Good  afternoon,"  said  Scrooge. 

**  I  am  sorry,  with  all  my  heart,  to  find  you  so 
resolute.  We  have  never  hatl  any  quarrel,  to  which 
I  have  been  a  party.  But  I  have  made  the  trial  in 
homage  to  Christmas,  and  I'll  keep  my  Christmas 
humor  to  tlie  last.    So  a  Merry  Christmas,  uncle  I  " 

•*  Good  afternoon  !"  said  Scrooge. 

**  And  a  Happy  New  Year  !  " 

*'  Good  afternoon  !  "  said  Scrooge. 

His  nephew  left  the  room  without  an  angry  word, 
notwithstanding.  He  stopped  at  the  outer  door  t« 
bestow  the  greetings  of  the  season  on  the  clerk, 
who,  cold  as  he  was,  was  warmer  than  Scrooge  ; 
for  he  returned  them  cordially. 

"There's  another  fellow,"  muttered  Scrooge; 
who  overheard  him:  "my  clerk,  with  fifteen 
shillings  a  week,  and  a  wife  and  family,  talking 
about  a  merry  Christmas.     I'll  retire  to"  Bedlam." 


18  Christmas  Tales. 

This  lunatic,  in  letting  Scrooge's  nephew  out^ 
had  let  two  other  people  in.  They  were  portly- 
gentlemen,  pleasant  to  behold,  and  now  stood, 
with  their  hats  off,  in  Scrooge's  office.  They  had 
books  and  papers  in  their  hands,  and  bowed  to 
him. 

"  Scrooge  and  Marley's,  I  believe,"  said  one  of 
the  gentlemen,  referring  to  his  list.  "  Have  I  the 
pleasure  of  addressing  Mr.  Scrooge,  or  Mr.  Mar- 
ley?" 

"  Mr.  Marley  has  been  dead  these  seven  years," 
Scrooge  replied.  "  He  died  seven  years  ago,  this 
very  night." 

"We  have  no  doubt  his  liberality  is  well  repre- 
sented bv  his  surviving  partner,"  said  the  gentle- 
man, presenting  his  credentials. 

It  certainly  was ;  for  they  had  been  two  kin- 
dred vspirits.  At  the  ominous  word  "liberality," 
Scrooge  frowned,  and  shook  his  head,  and  handed 
the  credentials  back. 

"  At  this  festive  season  of  the  year,  Mr.  Scrooge," 
said  the  gentleman,  taking  up  a  pen,  "it  is  more 
than  usually  desirable  that  we  should  make  some 
slight  provision  for  the  poor  and  destitute,  who 
suffer  greatly  at  the  present  time.  Many  thousands 
are  in  want  of  common  necessaries;  hundreds  of 
thousands  are  in  want  of  common  comforts,  sir." 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  ?"  asked  Scrooge. 

**  Fleniy  of  prisons,"  said  the  gentleman,  laying 
down  the  pen  again. 

"And  the  Union  workhouses?"  demanded 
Scrooge.     •*  Are  they  still  in  operation?  " 

"They  are.  Still,"  returned  the  gentleman,  "  I 
wish  I  could  say  they  were  not.  Under  the  impres- 
sion that  they  scarcely  furnish  Christian  cheer  of 
mind  or  body  to  the  multitude,  a  few  of  us  are  en- 
deavoring to  raise  a  fund  to  buy  the  poor  some 
meat  and  drink,  and  means  of  warmth.  We 
choose  this  time,  because  it  is  a  time,  of  all  others, 


A  Christmas  Carol.  19 

when  Want  is  keenly  felt,  and  Abundance  re- 
joices.    What  shall  I  put  you  down  for  ?  " 

*'  Nothing  !  "  Scrooge  replied. 

"  You  wish  to  be  anonymous  ?  " 

"I  wish  to  be  left  alone,"  said  Scrooge.  "Since 
you  ask  me  what  I  wish,  gentlemen,  that  is  my 
answer.  I  don't  make  merry  myself  at  Christmas, 
and  I  can't  afford  to  make  idle  people  merry.  I 
help  to  support  the  establishments  I  have  men- 
tioned—they cost  enough  ;  and  those  who  are  badly 
off  must  go  there." 

"Many  can't  go  there  ;  and  many  would  rather 
die." 

*'  If  they  would  rather  die,"  said  Scrooge,  **  they 
had  better  do  it,  and  decrease  the  surplus  popula- 
tion.    Besides — excuse   me — I  don't  know  that." 

"  But  you  might  know  it,"  observ-ed  the  gentle- 
man. 

"It's  not  my  business."  Scrooge  returned.  "It's 
enough  for  a  man  to  understand  his  own  business, 
and  not  to  interfere  with  other  people's.  INIine 
occupies  me  constantly.  Good  afternoon,  gentle- 
men !  " 

Seeing  clearly  that  it  would  be  useless  to  pursue 
their  point,  the  gentlemen  withdrew.  Scrooge 
resumed  his  labors  with  an  improved  opinion  of 
himself,  and  in  a  more  facetious  temper  than  was 
usual  with  him. 

At  length  the  hour  of  shutting  up  the  counting- 
house  arrived.  With  an  ill-will  Scrooge  dis- 
mounted from  his  stool,  and  tacitly  admitted  the 
fact  to  the  expectant  clerk  in  the  tank,  who  in- 
stantly snuffed  his  candle  out.  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"You'll  want  all  day  to-morrow,  I  suppose?" 
said  Scrooge. 

"If  quite  convenient,  sir." 

"It's  not  convenient,"  said  Scrooge,  "and  it's 
not  fair.  If  I  was  to  stop  half-a-crown  for  it,  you'd 
think  yourself  ill-used,  I'll  be  bound  ?  " 


20  Christmas  Tales. 

The  clerk  smiled  faintly. 

*'  And  yet,"  said  Scrooge,  "  you  don't  think  ««# 
ill-used,  when  I  pay  a  day's  wages  for  no  work." 

The  clerk  observed  that  it  was  only  once  a  year. 

*'A  poor  excuse  for  picking  a  man's  pocket 
every  twenty-fifth  of  December ! "  said  Scrooge, 
buttoning  his  great  coat  to  the  chin.  *'  But  I  sup- 
pose you  must  have  the  whole  day.  Be  here  all 
the  earliernext  morning." 

The  cleik  promised  that  he  would  ;  and  Scrooge 
•walktdout  with  a  growl.  The  office  was  closed 
in  a  twinkling,  and  the  clerk,  with  the  long  ends 
of  his  white  comforter  dangling  below  his  waist 
{for  he  boasted  no  greatcoat),  went  down  a  slide  on 
Cornhill,  at  the  end  of  a  lane  of  boys,  twenty 
times,  in  honor  of  its  being  Christmas-eve,  and 
then  ran  home  to  Camden  Town  as  bard  as  he 
could  pelt,  to  play  at  blindman's  buff. 

Scrooge  took  his  melancholy  dinner  in  his  usual 
melancholy  tavern ;  and  having  read  all  the  news- 
papers, and  beguiled  the  rest  of  the  evening  with 
his  banker's-book,  went  home  to  bed.  He  lived  in 
chambers  which  had  once  belonged  to  his  deceased 
panner.  They  were  a  gloomy  suite  of  rooms,  in  a 
lowering  pile  of  building  up  a  yard,  where  it  had 
so  little  business  to  be,  that  one  could  scarcel}'  help 
fancying  it  must  have  run  there  when  it  was  a 
young  house,  playing  at  hide-and-seek  with  other 
houses,  and  have  forgotten  the  way  out  again.  It 
■was  old  enough  now,  and  dreary  enough ;  for 
nobody  lived  in  it  but  Scrooge,  the  other  rooms 
being  all  let  out  as  offices. 

Every  room  above,  and  every  cask  in  the  wine- 
merchant's  cellars  below,  appeared  to  have  a  sepa- 
rate peal  of  echoes  of  its  own.  Scrooge  was  not  a 
man  to  be  frightened  by  echoes.  He  fastened  the 
door,  and  walked  across  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs  ; 
elowly  too  :  trimming  his  candle  as  he  went  Half 
a  dozen  gas-lamps  out  of  the  street  wouldn't  have 


A  ChrUtmus  Carol.  21 

lighted  the  entry  too  well,  so  you  may   suppose 
tliat  it  was  pretty  dark  with  Scrooge's  dip. 

Up  Scrooge  went,  not  caring  a  t^utton  for  that. 
Darkness  is  cheap,  and  Scrooge  liked  it.  But  be- 
fore he  shut  his  heavy  door,  he  waiked  through 
his  rooms  to  see  that  all  was  right. 

Quite  salisfied,  he  closed  his  door,  and  locked 
himself  in ;  double-locked  himself  in,  which  was 
not  his  custom.  Thus  secured  against  surprise,  he, 
took  off  his  cravat ;  put  on  his  dressing  gown  and 
slippers,  and  his  night-cap  ;  and  sat  down  before 
the  fire  to  take  his  gruel.  As  he  threw  his  head 
back  in  the  chair,  his  glance  happened  to  rest 
upon  a  bell,  a  disused  bell,  that  hung  in  the  room, 
and  communicated  for  some  purpose  now  forgotten 
with  a  chamber  in  the  highest  story  of  the  build- 
ing. It  was  with  great  astonishment,  and  with  a 
strange,  inexplicable  dread,  that  as  he  looked,  he 
saw  this  bell  begin  to  swing.  It  swung  so  softly  in 
the  outset  that  it  scarcely  made  a  sound  ;  but  soon 
it  rang  out  loudly,  and  so  did  every  bell  in  the 
house. 

This  might  have  lasted  half  a  minute,  or  a 
minute,  but  it  seemed  an  hour.  The  bells  ceased  as 
they  had  begun,  together.  They  were  succeeded  by 
a  clanking  noise  deep  down  below,  as  if  some  per- 
son were  dragging  a  heavy  chain  over  the  casks  in 
the  wine-merchant's  cellar.  Scrooge  then  remem- 
bered to  have  heard  that  ghosts  in  haunted  houses 
were  described  as  dragging  chains. 

The  cellar-door  flew  open  with  a  booming  sound, 
and  then  he  heard  the  noise  much  louder,  on  the 
floors  below ;  then  coming  up  the  stairs ;  then 
coming  straight  toward  his  door. 

"It's  humbug  still !"  said  Scrooge.  "I  won't 
believe  it." 

His  color  changed  though,  when,  without  a 
pause,  it  came  on  through  the  heavy  door,  and 
passed  into  the  room  before  his  eyes.     Upon  its 


22  Christmas  Tales. 

coming  in,  the  dying  flame  leaped  up,  as  though 
it  cried  "  I  kuow  him  !  Marley's  ghost !  "  and  fell 
again. 

The  same  face  :  the  very  same.  The  chain  he 
drew  was  clasped  about  his  middle.  It  was  long 
and  wound  about  him  like  a  tail ;  and  it  was  made 
(for  Scrooge  observed  it  closely)  of  cash-boxes, 
keys,  padlocks,  ledgers,  deeds,  and  heavy  purses 
wrought  in  steel. 

*'How  now"  said  Scrooge,  caustic  and  cold  as 
ever.      "What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"Much  !  " — Marley's  voice,  no  doubt  about  it 

"Who  are  you  ?" 

•*Ask  me  who  I  was.'* 

"Who  were  you  then?"  said  Scrooge,  raising 
his  voice.  "You're  particular,  for  a  shade."  He 
was  going  to  say  "  /<?  a  shade,"  but  substituted  this, 
as  more  appropriate. 

"In  life  I  was  your  partner,  Jacob  Marley." 

*'  Can  you — can  you  sit  down  ?  "  asked  Scrooge, 
looking  doubtfully  at  him. 

"1  can." 

"Doit,  then." 

ScrooL'C  asked  the  question,  because  he  didn't 
know  whether  a  ghost  so  transparent  might  find 
himself  in  a  condition  to  take  a  chair;  and  felt 
that  in  the  event  of  its  being  impossible,  it  might 
involve  the  necessity  of  an  embarrassing  explana- 
tion. But  the  Ghost  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  fireplace,  as  if  he  were  quite  used  to  it. 

Scrooge  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  clasped  his 
hands  before  his  face. 

"Mercy  !  "  he  said,  "  Dreadful  apparition,  why 
do  you  trouble  me  ?  " 

"  Man  of  the  worldly  mind  !  "  replied  the  Ghost, 
**do  you  believe  in  me  or  not  ?  " 

"I  do,"  said  Scrooge.  "  I  must.  But  why  do 
spirits  walk  the  earth,  and  why  do  they  come  to 
me?" 


A  Christmas  Carol.  23 

"It  i3  required  of  every  man,"  the  Ghost  re- 
turned, "that  the  spirit  within  him  should  walk 
abroad  among  his  fellow-men,  and  travel  far  and 
wide  ;  and  if  that  spirit  goes  not  forth  in  life,  it  is 
condemned  to  do  so  after  death.  It  is  doomed  to 
wander  through  the  world — oh,  woe  is  me! — and 
witness  what  it  cannot  share,  but  might  have 
shared  on  earth,  and  turned  to  happiness  !  " 

The  spectre  raised  a  cr}-,  and  shook  its  chain  and 
wrung  its  shadowy  hands. 

"You  are  fettered,"  said  Scrooge,  trembling. 
"Tell  me  why?" 

"  I  wear  the  chain  I  forged  in  life,"  replied  the 
Ghost.  "I  made  it  link  by  Imk,  and  yard  by 
yard ;  I  girded  it  on  of  my  own  free  will,  and  of 
my  own  free  will  I  wore  it.  Is  its  pattern  strange 
to  you  f 

Sciooge  trembled  more  and  more. 

"Or  would  you  know,"  pursued  the  Ghost,  "the 
weight  and  length  of  the  strong  coil  you  bear 
yourself?  It  was  full  as  heavy  and  as  long  as  this, 
seven  Christmas  Eves  ago.  You  have  labored  on  it 
since.     It  is  a  ponderous  chain  !  " 

Scrooge  glanced  about  him  on  the  floor,  in  the 
expectation  of  finding  himself  surrounded  by  some 
fifty  or  sixty  fathoms  of  iron  cable ;  but  he  could 
see  nothing. 

"Jacob,"  he  said  imploringly.  "Old  Jacob  Mar- 
ley,  tell  me  more.     Speak  comfort  to  me,  Jacob  !  " 

"  I  have  none  to  give,"  the  Ghost  replied.  "It 
comes  from  other  regions,  Ebeuezer  Scrooge,  and 
is  conveyed  by  other  ministers,  to  other  kinds  of 
men.  Nor  can  I  tell  you  what  I  would.  A  very 
little  more,  is  all  permitted  to  me.  I  cannot  rest, 
I  cannot  stay,  I  cannot  linger  anywhere.  My 
spirit  never  walked  beyond  our  counting-house — 
mark  me ! — in  life  my  spirit  never  roved  beyond 
the  narrow  limits  of  our  money-changing  hole  ; 
and  weary  journeys  lie  before  me  !  " 


24  Christmas  Tales, 

It  was  a  habit  with  Scrooge,  whenever  he  be- 
came thoughtful,  lo  put  his  hands  in  his  breeches' 
pockets.  Pondering  on  what  the  Ghost  had  said, 
he  did  so  now.  but  without  hlting  up  his  eyes,  or 
getting  off  his  knees. 

"  You  must  have  been  very  slow  about  it,  Jacob," 
Scrooge  observed,  in  a  business-like  manner, though 
with  humility  and  deference. 

"Slow  !  "  the  Ghost  repeated. 

"Seven  years  dtad,"  mused  Scrooge.  *'And 
traveling  all  the  time  ?  " 

"The  whole  time,"  said  the  Ghost.  "No  rest, 
no  peace.     Incessant  torture  of  remorse." 

•'  You  travel  fast  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

"On  the  wings  of  the  wind."  replied  the  Ghost 

"  You  might  have  got  over  a  great  quantity  of 
ground  in  seven  years,"  said  Scrooge. 

The  Ghost,  on  hearing  this  set  up  another  cry, 
and  clanked  its  chain  hideously. 

"Oh!  captive,  bound,  and  double-ironed,"  cried 
the  Phantom,  "  not  to  know  that  age^  of  incessant 
labor,  by  immortal  en  atures,  for  this  earth  must 
pass  into  eternity  before  the  good  of  which  it  is 
susceptible  is  all  developed.  Not  to  know  that  any 
Christian  spirit  working  kindly  in  its  little  sphere, 
whatever  it  may  be,  will  find  its  mortal  lite  too 
short  for  its  vast  means  of  usefulness.  Not  to 
know  that  no  space  of  regret  can  make  amends  for 
one  life's  opportunities  misused  !  Yet  such  was  I ! 
Oh!   such  was  I  !  " 

"  But  you  were  always  a  good  man  of  business, 
Jacob,"  faltrred  Scrooge,  who  now  begau  to  apply 
this  to  himself. 

"Business!"  cried  the  Ghost,  wringing  its 
hands  again.  "  Mankind  was  my  busine-s.  The 
common  welfare  was  my  business  ;  charity,  mercy, 
forbearance,  and  benevolence,  were,  all  my  busi- 
ness. The  dealings  of  my  trade  were  but  a  drop  of 
water  in  the  comprehensive  ocean  of  my  business  !  " 


A  Christmas  Carol,  25 

It  held  up  its  chain  at  arm's  length,  as  if  that 
were  the  cause  of  all  its  unavailing  grief,  and  flung 
it  heavily  upon  the  ground  attain. 

'•  At  this  time  of  the  rolling  year,"  the  Spectre 
said,  **I  suffer  most.  Why  did  I  walkthrough 
crowds  of  fellow- beings  with  my  eyes  turned 
down,  and  never  raise  them  to  that  blessed  Star 
which  led  the  Wise  Men  to  a  poor  abode?  Were 
there  no  poor  homes  to  which  its  light  would 
have  conducted  me  ?  " 

Scrooge  was  very  much  dismayed  to  hear  the 
Spectre  going  on  at  this  rate,  and  began  to  quake 
exceedingly. 

"Hear  me!"  cried  the  Ghost.  "My  time  is 
nearly  gone." 

''I  will,"  said  Scrooge,  "  But  don't  be  hard  upon 
me!     Don't  be  flowery,  Jacob  !     Pray!" 

"How  it  is  that  I  appear  before  you  in  a  shape 
that  you  can  see.  I  may  not  tell.  I  have  sat  invisi- 
ble be-ide  you  many  and  many  a  day." 

It  was  not  an  agreeable  idea.  Scrooge  shivered, 
and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

*'  That  is  no  light  part  of  my  penance,"  pursued 
the  Ghost.  "  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you,  that 
you  have  yet  a  chance  ami  hope  of  escaping  my 
fate.  A  chance  and  hope  of  my  procuring, 
Ebenezer.' 

"You  were  always  a  good  friend  to  me,"  said 
Scrooiie.      "Thank'ee!" 

"You  will  be  haunted,"  resumed  the  Ghost, 
"by  Three  Spirits." 

Scrooge's  countenance  fell, 

"  Is  that  the  ctiance  and  hope  you  mentioned. 
Jacob?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"Itis.  ' 

*'  I— I  think  I'd  rather  not,"  said  Scrooge. 

"Without  their  visits."  said  the  Ghost,  "you 
cannot  hope  to  shun  the  path  I  tread.  Expect  the 
first  to-morrow,  when  the  bell  tolls  One." 


26  Christmas  Tales. 

"Couldn't  I  take  'em  all  at  once,  and  have  it 
over,  Jacob  ?  "  hinted  Scrooge. 

"Expect  the  second  on  the  next  night  at  the 
same  hour.  The  third,  upon  the  next  night  when 
the  last  stroke  of  Twelve  has  ceased  to  vibrate. 
L/Ook  to  see  me  no  more ;  and  look  that,  for  your 
own  sake,  you  remember  what  has  passed  between 
us !  " 

The  apparition  walked  backward  from  him  to- 
ward the  window,  and  floated  out  upon  the  bleak, 
dark  night. 

Scrooge  followed  to  the  window  ;  desperate  in 
his  curiosity.     He  looked  out. 

The  air  was  filled  with  phantoms,  wandering 
hither  and  thither  in  restless  haste,  and  moaning 
as  they  went.  Every  one  of  them  wore  chains  like 
Marley's  ghost ;  some  few  (they  might  be  guilty 
governments)  were  linked  together;  none  were 
free.  Many  had  been  personally  known  to  Scrooge 
in  their  lives.  He  had  been  quite  familiar  with 
one  old  ghost,  in  a  white  waistcoat,  with  a  mon- 
strous iron  safe  attached  to  its  ankle,  who  cried  pite- 
ously  at  being  unable  to  assist  a  wretched  woman 
with  an  infant,  whom  it  saw  below  upon  a  door-step. 
The  misery  with  them  all  was,  clearly,  that  they 
sought  to  interfere,  for  good,  in  human  matters 
and  had  lost  the  power  for  ever. 

Whether  these  creatures  faded  into  mist,  or  mist 
enshrouded  them,  he  could  not  tell.  But  they  and 
their  spirit  voices  faded  together ;  and  the  night 
became  as  it  had  been  when  he  walked  home. 

Scrooge  closed  the  window,  and  examined  the 
door  by  which  the  Ghost  had  entered.  It  was 
double-locked,  as  he  had  locked  it  with  his  own 
hands,  and  the  bolts  were  undisturbed.  He  tried 
to  say  "  Humbug  !  "  but  stopped  at  the  first  sylla- 
ble. And  being,  from  the  emotion  he  had  under- 
gone, or  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  or  his  glimpse  of 
the  Invisible  World,  or  the  dull  conversation  of 


A  Christmas  Carol.  21 

the  Ghost,  or  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  much  in 
need  of  repose,  \vent  straight  to  bed,  without  un- 
dressing, and  fell  asleep  upon  the  instant. 


Stave  Two. 
the  first  of  the  three  spirits. 

When  Scrooge  awoke,  it  was  so  dark,  that, 
looking  out  of  bed,  he  could  scarce]}'  distinguish 
the  transparent  window  from  the  opaque  walls  of 
his  chamber.  He  was  endeavoring  to  pierce  the 
darkness  with  his  ferret  eyes,  w^hen  the  chimes  of 
a  neighboring  church  clock  struck  twelve. 

"  Why  it  isn't  possible,"  said  Scrooge,  "that  I 
can  have  slept  through  a  whole  day  and  far  into 
another  night  ! " 

Scrooge  lay  and  thought  and  thought  it  over  and 
over,  and  could  make  nothing  of  it.  The  more  he 
thought,  the  more  perplexed  he  was,  and  the  more 
he  endeavored  not  to  think,  the  more  he  thought. 
Marley's  ghost  bothered  him  exceedingly.  "  Was 
it  a  dream  or  not  ?  " 

Scrooge  lay  in  this  state  until  he  remembered, 
on  a  sudden,  that  the  Ghost  had  warned  him  of  a 
visitation  when  the  bell  tolled  One,  He  resolved 
to  lie  awake  until  the  hour  was  passed  ;  and  con- 
sidering that  he  could  not  go  to  sleep,  this  was 
perhaps  the  wisest  resolution  in  his  power. 

He  was  more  than  once  convinced  he  must  have 
sunk  into  a  doze  unconsciousl}-,  and  missed  the 
clock.     At  length  it  broke  upon  his  listening  ear. 

"  The  hour  itself,"  said  Scrooge,  triumphantly, 
*'  nothing  else  !  " 

He  spoke  before  the  hour  bell  sounded,  which  it 
now  did  with  a  deep,  dull,    hollow,    melancholy 


28  Christmas  Tales. 

One.  Light  flashed  up  in  the  room  upon  the  in- 
stant, and  the  curtains  of  his  bed  were  drawn. 

The  curtains  of  his  bed  were  drawn  aside,  I  tell 
you,  by  a  hand.  Not  the  curtains  at  his  feet,  nor 
the  curtains  at  his  back,  but  those  to  which  his  face 
was  addressed.  The  curtains  of  his  bed  were 
•drawn  aside;  and  Scrooge,  starting  up  into  a  half- 
recumbert  attitude,  found  himself  iace  to  face 
with  the  visitor  who  drew  them. 

It  was  a  strange  figure — hke  a  child  :  yet  not  so 
like  a  child  as  like  an  old  man,  viewed  through 
some  supernatural  medium,  which  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  having  receded  from  the  view,  and 
being  diminished  to  a  child's  proportions.  Its 
hair,  which  hung  about  its  neck  and  down  it>  back, 
was  white  as  if  with  age ;  and  yet  the  face  had  not 
^  wrinkle  in  it,  and  the  tenderest  bloom  was  on  the 
skin.  The  arms  were  very  long  and  muscular; 
the  hands  the  same,  as  if  its  hold  were  of  uncom- 
mon strength.  Its  legs  and  feet,  most  delicately 
formed,  were,  like  those  upper  members,  bare.  It 
wore  a  tunic  of  the  purest  white  ;  and  round  its 
waist  was  bound  a  lustrous  belt,  the  sheen  of  which 
was  beautiful.  It  held  a  branch  of  fresh  green 
holly  in  its  hand  ;  and,  in  singular  contradiction 
of  that  wintry  emblem,  had  its  dress  trimmed  with 
summer  flowers.  But  the  strangest  thing  about  it 
was,  that  from  the  crown  of  its  head  there  sprung 
a  bright  clear  jet  of  light,  by  which  all  this  was 
visible  ;  and  which  was  doubtless  the  occasion  of 
its  using,  in  its  duller  moments,  a  great  extin- 
guisher for  a  cap,  which  it  now  held  under  its 
arm. 

"Are  you  the  Spirit,  sir,  whose  coming  was  fore- 
told to  me  ?  "  asked  Scrooge. 

'♦I  am!" 

The  voice  was  soft  and  gentle.  Singularly  low, 
;as  if  instead  of  being  so  close  beside  him,  it  were 
.at  a  distance. 


A  Christmas  Carol.  29' 

"  Who,  and  what  are  you  ? "  Scrooge  demanded. 

"  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past.  ' 

"Long  Fast?"  inquired  Scrooge;  observant  of 
its  dwarfish  stature. 

■'  No.     Your  past." 

Scrooge  then  made  bold  to  inquire  what  business 
brought  him  there. 

"  Your  welfare  !  "  said  the  Ghost. 

Scroo;^e  expressed  himself  much  obhged,  but 
could  not  help  thinking  that  a  night  of  unbroken 
rest  would  have  been  moie  conducive  to  that  end. 
The  Spirit  mu^t  have  heard  him  thinking,  for  it- 
said  immediately  : 

"  Your  reclamation,  then.    Take  heed  !  " 

It  put  out  its  strong  nand  as  it  spoke,  and 
clasped  him  gently  by  the  arm. 

"  Rise  !  and  walk  with  me  !  " 

It  would  have  been  in  vain  for  Scrooge  to  plead 
that  the  weather  and  the  hour  were  not  adapted  to 
pedestrian  purposes ;  that  bed  was  warm  and  the 
thermometer  a  long  way  below  freezing  ;  that  he 
was  clad  but  lightly  in  his  slippers,  dressing-gown, 
and  night-cap  ;  and  that  he  had  a  cold  upon  him  at 
the  time.  The  grasp,  though  gentle  as  a  woman's 
hand,  was  not  to  be  resisted.  He  rose  :  but  find- 
ing that  the  Spirit  made  toward  the  window, 
clasped  its  robe  in  supplication. 

"I  am  a  mortal,"  Scrooge  remonstrated,  "and 
liable  to  fall." 

"  Bear  but  a  touch  of  my  hand  l/iere,"  said  the 
Spirit,  laying  it  upon  his  heart,  "  and  you  shall  be 
uphed  in  more  than  this  !  " 

As  the  words  were  spoken,  they  passed  out,  and 
stood  upon  an  open  country  road,  with  fields  on 
either  hand.  The  city  had  entire)}'  vanished. 
Not  a  vestige  of  it  was  to  be  seen.  The  d-irkness 
afd  the  mist  had  vanished  with  it,  for  it  was  a  clear, 
cold,  winter  day,  with  snow  upon  the  ground. 

"Good    Spirit!"    said    Scrooge,    clasping    his- 


;30  Christmas  Tales. 

hands  together,  as  he  looked  about  him,  "I  was 
bred  in  this  place.     I  was  a  boy  here  !  " 

The  Spirit  gazed  upon  him  mildly.  Its  gentle 
touch,  though  it  had  been  light  and  instantaneous, 
appeared  still  present  to  the  old  man's  sense  of 
feeling.  He  was  conscious  of  a  thousand  odors 
floating  in  the  air,  each  one  connected  with  a 
thousand  thoughts,  and  hopes,  and  joys,  and  cares 
long,  long,  forgotten  ! 

'•  Your  lip  is  trembling,"  said  the  Ghost.  "  And 
what  is  that  upon  your  cheek?  " 

Scrooge  muttered,  with  an  unusual  caxching  in 
his  voice,  that  it  was  a  pimple ;  and  begged  the 
Ghost  to  lead  him  where  he  would. 

'*  You  recollect  the  way  ?  "  inquired  the  Spirit. 

"  Remember  it !  "  cried  Scrooge  with  fervor  ;  "  I 
could  walk  it  blindfold." 

"Strange  to  have  forgotten  it  for  so  many 
years  !  "  observed  the  Ghost.      "Let  us  go  on." 

They  walked  along  the  road.  Scrooge  recogniz- 
ing every  gate^  and  post,  and  tree  ;  until  a  little 
market-town  appeared  in  the  distance,  with  its 
bridge,  its  church,  and  winding  river.  Some 
shaggy  ponies  now  were  seen  trotting  toward 
them  with  boys  upon  their  backs,  who  called  to 
other  boys  in  country  gigs  and  Cfirts,  driven  by 
farmers.  All  these  boys  were  in  great  spirits,  and 
shouted  to  each  other,  until  the  broad  fields  were 
so  full  of  merry  music,  that  the  crisp  air  laughed 
to  hear  it. 

"  These  are  but  shadows  of  the  things  that  have 
been,"  said  the  Ghost.  "They  have  no  conscious- 
ness of  us." 

The  jocund  travelers  came  on  ;  and  as  they 
came,  Scrooge  knew  and  named  them  every  one. 
Why  was  he  rejoiced  beyond  all  bounds  to  see 
them  ?  Why  did  his  cold  eye  glisten,  and  his 
heart  leap  up  as  they  went  past  ?  Why  was  he 
£lled  with  gladness  when  he  heard  them  give  each 


A  Chridmas  Carol.  31 

other  jMerry  Christmas,  as  they  parted  at  cross- 
roads and  bye-ways,  for  their  several  homes? 
What  was  Merry  Christmas  to  Scrooge  ?  Out  upon 
Merry  Christmas  !  What  good  had  it  ever  done  to 
him  ? 

"The  school  is  not  quite  deserted,"  said  the 
Ghost.  "  A  solitary  child,  neglected  by  his  friends, 
is  left  there  still." 

Scrooge  said  he  knew  it.     And  he  sobbed. 

They  left  the  high-road,  by  a  well  remembered 
lane,  and  soon  approached  a  mansion  of  dull  red 
brick,  with  a  little  weathercock-surmounted  cupola, 
on  the  rouf,  and  a  bell  hanging  in  it.  It  was  a 
large  house, but  one  of  broken  fortunes;  for  the  spa 
cious  offices  were  little  used,  their  walls  were  damp 
and  mossy,  their  windows  broken,  and  their  gates 
decayed.  Fowls  clncked  and  strutted  in  the  sta- 
bles ;  and  the  coach-houses  and  sheds  were  over- 
run with  grass.  Nor  was  it  more  retentive  of  its 
ancient  state  within  ;  for  entering  the  dreary  hall, 
and  glancing  through  the  open  doors  of  many 
rooms,  they  found  them  poorly  furnished,  cold, 
and  vast.  There  was  an  earthy  savor  in  the  air,  a 
chilly  bareness  in  the  place,  which  associated  itself 
somehow  with  too  much  getting  up  by  candle- 
light, and  not  too  much  to  eat. 

They  went,  the  Ghost  and  Scrooge,  across  the 
hall,  to  a  door  at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  opened 
before  them,  and  disclosed  a  long,  bare,  melan- 
choly room,  made  barer  still  by  lines  of  plain  deal 
forms  and  desks.  At  one  of  these  a  lonely  boy 
was  reading  near  a  feeble  fire  ;  and  Scrooge  sat 
down  upon  a  form,  and  wept  to  see  his  poor  for- 
gotten self  as  he  had  used  to  be. 

"I  wish,"  Scrooge  muttered,  putting  his  hand 
in  his  pocket,  and  looking  about  him,  after  drymg 
his  eyes  with  his  cuff:  "  but  it's  too  late  now." 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  asked  the  Spirit. 

"Nothing,"  said    Scrooge.     "  Nothing.     There 


32  Christmas  Tales. 

was  a  boy  singing  a  Christmas  Carol  at  my  door 
last  night.  I  should  like  to  have  given  him  some- 
thing :  that's  all." 

The  Ghost  smiled  thoughtfully,  and  waved  its 
hand :  saying  as  it  did  so,  "  Let  us  see  another 
Christmas!  " 

Scrooge's  former  self  grew  larger  at  the  words, 
and  the  room  became  a  Httle  darker  and  more 
dirty.  The  panels  shrunk,  the  windows  cracked  ; 
fragments  of  plaster  fell  out  of  the  ceiling,  and  ihe 
naked  laths  were  shown  instead  ;  but  how  all  this 
was  brought  about,  Scrooge  knew  no  more  ihan 
you  do.  He  only  knew  that  it  was  quite  conect  : 
that  everything  had  happened  so:  that  there  he 
was,  alone  again,  when  all  the  other  boys  had 
^one  home  for  the  jolly  holi  'ays. 

He  was  not  readmg  now,  but  walking  up  and 
down  despairingly.  Scrooge  looked  at  the  (ilmt, 
and  with  a  niourntul  shaking  of  his  head,  glanced 
anxiously  toward  the  door. 

It  opened  ;  and  a  little  ^irl  much  younger  than 
the  boy,  came  darting  in,  and  putting  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  often  kissing  him,  addressed 
him  as  her  "  Dear,  dear  brother." 

'*  I  tiavecome  to  bring)  ou  home,  dear  brother  !  " 
said  the  child,  clapping  her  tiny  hands,  and  bend- 
ing down  to  laugh.  "To  bring  you  home,  home, 
home !  " 

"Home,  little  Fan  ?"  returned  the  boy. 

"Yes,"  said  the  child,  brimful  of  glee.  *'  Home, 
for  good  and  all.  Home,  for  ever  and  ever. 
Pather  is  so  much  kinder  than  he  used  to  be,  that 
home's  like  Heaven  !  He  spoke  so  gently  lo  me 
one  dear  night  when  I  was  going  tobtd,that  I  was 
not  afraid  to  ask  him  once  more  i  f  you  might  come 
home ;  and  he  said  Yes,  you  should  ;  and  sent  me  in 
a  coach  to  bring  you.  And  you're  to  be  a  man  !  " 
said  the  child,  opening  her  eyes;  *'  and  are  never 
\o  come  back  here  :  but  first,  we're  to  be  together 


A  Chridmas  Carol.  33 

all  the  Christmas  long,  and  have  the  merriest  time 
in  all  the  world." 

••You  are  quite  a  woman,  little  Fan!"  ex- 
claimed the  loy. 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed,  and  tried  to 
touch  liis  head  ;  but  being  too  little,  laughed 
again,  and  stood  on  tiptoe  to  embrace  him.  Then 
she  iie^an  to  drag  him,  in  her  childish  eagerness, 
toward  the  door;  and  he,  nothing  loth  to  go,  ac- 
companied her. 

A  terrible  voice  in  the  hall  cried,  "Bringdown 
Mnster  Scrooge's  box,  there  !  "  and  in  the  hall  ap- 
peared the  schoolmaster  himself,  who  glared  on 
Master  Scrooge  wiih  a  ferocious  condescension,  and 
threw  h  m  into  a  dreadfid  state  of  mind  by  shak- 
ing hands  with  him.  Master  Scrooge's  trunk  be- 
in^;  tied  on  to  the  top  of  the  chaise,  the  children 
bade  the  schoolmasl«r  good-bye  right  willingly; 
and  getting  into  it,  drove  gailv  down  the  garden- 
sweep  :  the  quirk  wheels  dashing  the  hoar-fmst 
and  snow  from  off  the  dark  leaves  of  the  ever- 
greens like  spray. 

"Alwaxs  a  delicate  creature,  whom  a  breath 
mis^ht  have  withered,"  said  the  Ghost.  "  But  she 
ha<l  a  large  heart  !  " 

•*  .So  she  had,"  cried  Scrooge.  "You're  right. 
I  will  not  gainsay  ii.  Spir-t.     God  forbid  !  " 

"She  ditd  a  woman,"  said  the  Ghost,  "  and  had, 
as  I  think,  children." 

"  One  child,"  Scrooge  returned, 

"  True,  ■'  said  the  Gho>t.     "  Your  nephew  !  " 

Scrooge  seemed  u^ieasy  in  his  mind  ;  and  an- 
swered brieflv,  '  Yes." 

Although  they  had  but  that  moment  left  the 
school  behind  them,  they  were  now  in  the  busy 
thorouahfares  of  a  city,  where  shadowy  passengers 
pass  d  and  repassed  ;  where  shadowy  carts  and 
coaches  battled  for  the  way.  and  all  the  strife  and 
tumult  of  a  real  city  were.     It  was  made  plain 


34  Christmas  Tales. 

enough,  by  the  dressing  of  the  shops,  that  here  too 
it  was  Christmas  time  again ;  but  it  was  evening, 
and  the  streets  were  lighted  up. 

The  Ghost  stopped  at  a  certain  warehouse  door, 
and  asked  Scrooge  if  he  knew  it. 

"Know  it !  "  said  Scrooge.  "  Was  not  I  appren- 
ticed here  ! " 

They  went  in.  At  sight  of  an  old  gentleman  in 
a  Welsh  wig,  sitting  behind  such  a  high  desk,  that 
if  he  had  l^een  two  inches  taller  he  must  have 
knocked  his  head  against  the  ceiling,  Scrooge 
cried  in  great  excitement : 

"  Why,  it's  old  Fezziwig  !  Bless  his  heart ;  it's 
Fezziwig  alive  again  !  " 

Old  Fezziwig  laid  down  his  pen,  and  looked  up 
at  the  clock,  which  pointed  to  the  hour  of  seven. 
He  rubbed  his  hands ;  adjusted  his  capacious 
w^aistcoat ;  laughed  all  over  himself,  from  his 
shoes  to  his  organ  of  benevolence  ;  and  called  out 
in  a  comfortable,  oily,  rich,  fat,  jovial  voice  : 

"  Yo  ho,  there  !     Ebenezer  !     Dick  !  " 

Scrooge's  former  self,  now  grown  a  young  man, 
came  briskly  in,  accompanied  by  his  fellow-'pren- 
tice. 

"Dick  Wilkins,  to  be  sure!"  said  Scrooge  to 
the  Ghost.  "Bless  me,  yes.  There  he  is.  He 
was  very  much  attached  to  me,  was  Dick.  Poor 
Dick  !     Dear,  dear  !  " 

"Yo  ho,  my  boys  !"  said  Fezziwig,  "No  more 
work  to-night.  Christmas  Eve,  Dick,  Christmas, 
Ebenezer.  Let's  have  the  shutters  up,"  cried  old 
Fezziwig,  with  a  sharp  clap  of  his  hands,  "before 
a  man  can  say  Jack  Robinson  !  " 

You  wouldn't  believe  how  those  two  fellows 
went  at  it !  They  charged  into  the  street  with  the 
shutters— one,  two,  three — had  'em  up  in  their 
places — four,  five,  six — barred  'em  and  pinned 
*em — seven,  eight,  nine — and  came  back  before  you 
could  have  got  to  twelve,  panting  like  race-horses. 


A  Christmas  Carol.  35 

*'  Hilli-ho  ! "'  cried  old  Fezziwig,  skipping  down 
from  the  high  desk,  with  wonderful  agility. 
"  Clear  awav,  mv  lads,  and  let's  have  lots  of  room 
here  !  " 

Clear  away  !  There  was  nothing  they  wouldn't 
have  cleared  away,  or  couldn't  have  cleared  away, 
with  old  Fezziwig  looking  on.  It  was  done  in  a 
minute.  Every  movable  was  packed  off,  as  if  it 
were  dismissed  from  public  life  for  evermore  ;  the 
floor  was  swept  and  watered,  the  lamps  were  trim- 
med, fuel  was  heaped  upon  the  fire  ;  and  the  ware- 
house was  as  snug,  and  warm,  and  dr}^,  and  bright 
a  play-room  as  3^ou  would  desire  to  see  upon  a 
winter's  night. 

In  came  a  fiddler  with  a  music-book,  and  went 
up  to  the  lofty  desk,  and  made  an  orchestra  of  it, 
and  tuned  like  fifty  stomach-aches.  In  came  Mrs. 
Fezziwig,  one  vast  substantial  smile.  In  came  the 
three  Miss  Fezziwigs,  beaming  and  lovable.  In 
came  all  the  young  men  and  women  employed  in 
the  business.  In  came  the  housemaid,  with  her 
cousin,  the  baker.  In  came  the  cook,  with  her 
brother's  particular  friend,  the  milkman.  In  they 
all  came,  one  after  another ;  some  shyly,  some 
boldly,  some  gracefully,  some  awkwardly,  some 
pushing,  some  pulling  ;  in  they  all  came,  anyhow 
and  everyhow. 

There  were  dances,  and  there  were  forfeits,  and 
more  dances,  and  there  was  cake,  and  there  was  a 
great  piece  of  Cold  Roast,  and  there  was  a  great 
piece  of  Cold  Boiled,  and  there  were  mince-pies. 

When  the  clock  struck  eleven,  this  domestic 
ball  broke  up.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  took  their 
stations,  one  on  either  side  the  door,  and  shaking 
hands  with  every  person  individually  as  he  or  she 
went  out,  wished  him  or  her  a  ]\Ierry  Christmas. 
When  everybody  had  retired  but  the  two  'pren- 
tices they  did  the  same  to  them  ;  and  thus  the 
cheerful  voices  died  away,  and  the  lads  were  left  to 


36  Christmas  Tales. 

their  beds  ;  which  were  under  a  counter  iu  the 
back-shop. 

During  the  whole  of  this  time,  Scrooge  had 
acted  like  a  man  out  of  his  wits.  His  heart  and 
soul  were  in  the  scene,  and  -vviih  his  former  self. 
He  corroborated  everything,  lemembered  every- 
thing, enjoytd  everything,  and  underwent  the 
strangest  agitation.  It  was  not  until  now,  when 
the  bright  faces  of  his  former  self  and  Dick  were 
turned  from  them,  that  he  remembered  the  Ghost, 
and  became  conscious  that  it  was  looking  full  upou 
him,  while  the  light  upon  its  head  burnt  very  clear. 

**A  small  matter,"  said  the  Ghost,  *'to  make 
the  e  silly  folks  so  full  of  gratitude." 

"Small !  "  echoed  Scrooge. 

The  spirit  signed  to  him  to  listen  to  the  two  ap- 
prentices, who  were  pouring  out  their  hearts  in 
praise  of  Fezziwig;  and  when  he  had  done  so  said, 

"  Why  !  Is  it  uot  ?  He  has  spent  but  a  few 
pounds  of  your  mortal  money  :  three  or  four,  per- 
haps. Is  that  so  much  that  he  deserves  this 
praise?  " 

"It  isn't  that,"  said  Scrooge,  heated  by  the  re- 
mark, and  speaking  unconsciously  like  his  former, 
not  his  latter  self  "  It  isn't  that.  Spirit.  He  has 
the  power  to  render  us  happy  or  unhappy  ;  to 
make  our  service  light  or  burdensome  ;  a  pleasure 
or  a  toil.  S^y  that  his  power  lies  in  words  and 
looks  ;  in  things  ?o  slight  and  insiynihcant  that  it 
is  impossible  to  add  and  count  'em  up  ;  what  then? 
The  happiness  he  gives,  is  quite  as  great  as  if  it  cost 
a  fortune." 

He  felt  the  Spirit's  glance,  and  stopped. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  Ghost. 

"Nothing  particular,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  Something,  I  think?  "  the  Ghost  insisted. 

"No,"  said  Scrooge,  "No.  I  should  like  to  be 
able  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  my  clerk  just  now. 
That's  all.'" 


A  Christmas  Carol.  37 

His  former  self  turned  down  the  lamps  as  he 
gave  utterance  to  the  wish  :  and  Scrooge  and  the 
Ghost  again  stood  side  by  side  in  ihe  open  air. 

"My  time  grows  short,"  observed  the  Spirit 
"Quick  !" 

Tnis  was  not  addressed  to  Scrooge,  or  to  any  one 
whom  he  could  see,  but  it  produced  an  immediate 
effect.  For  again  Scrooge  saw  himself.  He  was 
older  now  ;  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  His  face 
had  not  the  harsh  and  rigid  lines  of  later  years; 
but  it  had  begun  to  wear  the  signs  of  care  and 
avarice.  There  was  an  eager,  greedy,  restless  mo- 
tion in  the  eye,  which  showed  ihe  passion  that  had 
taken  root,  and  where  the  shadow  of  the  growing 
tree  would  fall. 

He  was  not  alone,  but  sat  by  the  side  of  a  fair 
young  girl  in  a  mourning-dress  :  in  whose  eyes 
there  were  tears,  which  sparkled  in  the  light  that 
shone  out  of  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past. 

"It  matters  little,"  she  said,  softly.  "To  you, 
very  little.  Another  idol  has  displaced  me  ;  and  if 
it  can  cheer  and  comfort  you  in  time  to  come,  as  I 
would  have  tried  to  do,  I  have  no  just  cause  to 
grieve  " 

"  What  idol  has  displaced  you  ?  "  he  rejoined. 

"  A  golden  one  " 

"This  is  the  even-handed  dealingof  the  world  !*' 
he  said.  "  There  is  nothing  on  which  it  is  so  hard 
as  poverty  ;  and  there  is  nothing  it  professes  to  con- 
demn with  such  severity  as  the  pursuit  of  wealth  !  " 

"You  fear  the  world  too  much,"  she  answered, 
gently.  "  AH  your  other  hopes  have  merged  into 
the  hope  of  being  beyond  the  chance  of  its  sordid 
reproach.  I  have  seen  your  nobler  aspirations  fall 
off  ot:e  by  one,  until  the  master-passion,  Gain,  en- 
grosses you.     Have  I  not  ?  " 

"  What  then  ?  "  he  retorted.  "  Even  if  I  have 
grown  so  much  wiser,  what  then  ?  I  am  not 
changed  toward  you." 


38  Christmas  Tales. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Ami?" 

"  Our  contract  is  an  old  one.  It  was  made  when 
we  were  both  poor  and  content  to  be  so,  until,  in 
good  season,  we  could  improve  our  worldly  fortune 
by  our  patient  industry.  You  are  changed.  When 
it  was  made,  you  were  another  man." 

*'  I  was  a  boy,"  he  said  impatiently. 

"Your  own  feeling  tells  you  that  you  were  not 
what  you  are,"  she  returned.  "lam.  Thatwhich 
promised  happiness  when  we  were  one  in  heart,  is 
fraught  with  misery  now  that  we  are  two.  How 
often  and  how  keenly  I  have  thought  of  this,  I  will 
not  say.  It  is  enough  that  I  /lave  thought  of  it, 
andean  release  you." 

"Have  lever  sought  release?  " 

"In  words.     No.     Never." 

"  In  what,  then  ?  " 

"  In  a  changed  nature ;  in  an  altered  spirit ;  in 
another  atmosphere  of  life  ;  another  Hope  as  its 
great  end.  In  everything  that  made  my  love  of 
any  worth  or  value  in  your  sight.  If  this  had 
never  been  between  us,"  said  the  girl,  looking 
mildly,  but  with  steadiness,  upon  him  ;  "can even 
I  believe  that  you  would  choose  a  dowerless  girl  : 
or,  choosing  her,  do  I  not  know  that  your  repent- 
ance and  regret  would  surely  follow  ?  I  do  ;  and  I 
release  you.  With  a  full  heart,  for  the  love  of  him 
you  once  were." 

He  was  about  to  speak  ;  but  she  left  him  and  they 
parted. 

* '  Spirit  ! ' '  said  Scrooge,  "  show  me  no  more  .' 
Conduct  me  home.  Why  do  you  delight  to  torture 
me?" 

"  I  told  you  these  were  shadows  of  the  things 
that  have  been, "  said  the  Ghost.  "  That  they  are 
what  they  are,  do  not  blame  me  ! ' ' 

' '  Remove  me  ! ' '  Scrooge  exclaimed.  ' '  I  cannot 
bear  it  ! " 


A  Christmas  Carol.  39 

He  turned  upon  the  Ghost,  and  seeing  that  it 
looked  upon  him  with  a  face,  in  which  in  some 
strange  way  there  were  fragments  of  all  the  faces 
it  had  shown  him,  wrestled  with  it. 

"Leave  me!  Take  me  back.  Haunt  me  no 
longer  !  " 

In  the  struggle — if  that  can  be  called  a  struggle 
in  which  the  Ghost,  with  no  visible  resistance  on 
its  own  part  was  undisturbed  by  any  effort  of  its 
adversary — Scrooge  was  conscious  of  being  ex- 
hausted, and  overcome  by  an  irresistible  drowsi- 
ness ;  and,  further,  of  being  in  his  own  bed-room. 
He  had  barely  time  to  reel  to  bed,  before  he  sank 
into  a  heavy  sleep. 


Stave  Three. 
the  second  of  the  three  spirits. 

Awaking  in  the  middle  of  a  prodigiously  tough 
snore,  and  sitting  up  in  bed  to  get  his  thoughts  to- 
gether, Scrooge  had  no  occasion  to  be  told  that  the 
bell  was  again  upon  the  stroke  of  One.  He  felt 
that  he  was  restored  to  consciousness  in  the  right 
nick  of  time,  for  the  especial  purpose  of  holding  a 
conference  with  the  second  messenger  despatched 
to  him  through  Jacob  Marley's  intervention.  But, 
finding  that  he  turned  uncomfortably  cold  when  he 
began  to  wonder  which  ot  his  curtains  this  new 
spectre  would  draw  back,  he  put  them  every  one 
aside  with  his  own  hands,  and  lying  down  again, 
established  a  sharp  look-out  all  round  the  bed. 
For  he  wished  to  challenge  the  Spirit  on  the  mo- 
ment of  its  appearance,  and  did  not  wish  to  be 
taken  by  surprise  and  made  nervous. 

Now,  being  prepared  for  almost  anything,  he 
was  not  by  any  means  prepared  for  nothing  ;  and, 


40  Christmas  Tales. 

consequently,  when  the  bell  struck  One,  and  no 
shape  appeared,  he  was  taken  with  a  violent  fit  of 
trembling.  Five  minutes,  ten  minutes  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  went  by,  yet  nothing  came.  All  this  liuie, 
he  lay  upon  his  bed,  the  v<  ry  core  and  centre  of  a 
blaze  of  ruddy  light,  which  streamed  upon  it  when 
the  clock  proclaimed  the  hour  ;  and  which,  being 
only  light,  was  more  alarming  than  a  dozen  ghosts, 
as  he  was  powerless  to  make  out  what  it  meant. 
At  last,  however,  he  began  to  think  that  the 
source  and  secret  of  this  ghostly  light  might  be  in 
the  adjoining  room,  from  whence,  on  further  trac- 
ing it,  it  seemed  to  shine.  This  idea  taking  full 
possession  of  his  mind,  he  got  up  softly  and 
shuffled  in  his  slippers  to  tlio  door. 

The  moment  Scrooge's  hand  was  on  the  lock,  a 
strange  voice  called  him  by  his  name,  and  bade 
him  enter.     He  obeyed. 

It  was  his  own  room  There  was  no  doubt  about 
that.  But  it  had  undergone  a  surprising  transfor- 
mation. The  walls  and  ceiling  were  so  hung  vviih 
living  green,  that  it  looked  a  perfect  grove  ;  from 
every  part  of  which,  bright  gleaming  berrit-s  glist- 
ened. The  crisp  leaves  of  holly,  misiletoe,  and 
ivy  reflected  back  the  light,  as  if  so  many  little 
mirrors  had  been  scattered  there;  and  such  a 
mi^htv  blaze  went  roaring  up  the  chimney,  as  that 
dull  petrifaciion  of  a  hearth  had  never  known  in 
Scrooge's  time,  or  Marley's,  or  for  many  and  many 
a  winter  season  gone.  Heaped  up  on  the  floor,  to 
form  a  kind  of  throne,  were  turkeys,  geese,  game, 
poultry,  brawn,  great  joints  of  meat,  sucking-pigs, 
long  wreaths  of  sausat^es,  mince-pies,  plum-pud- 
dings, barrels  of  oysters,  red  hot  chestnuts,  cherry- 
cheeked  apples,  juicy  oranges,  luscious  pears  and 
imm  use  twelfth -cakes,  that  made  the  chamber 
dim  with  their  delicious  steam.  In  easy  state  upon 
this  couch  there  sac  a  jolly  Giant,  glorious  to  see  ; 
who  bore  a  glowing  torch,  in  shape  not  unlike 


A  Christinas  Carol.  41 

Plenty's  horn,  and  held  it  up,  high  up,  to  shed  its 
light  on  Scrooge,  as  he  came  peeping  round  the 
door. 

'•  Come  in  !"  exclaimed  the  Ghost     "  Come  in  ! 

and  know  me  better,  man  !" 

Scrooge  entered  timidly,  and  hung  his  head  before 
this  Spirit.  He  was  not  the  do.^iged  Scrooge  he 
had  been  ;  and  though  the  Spirit's  eyes  were  clear 
and  kind,  he  did  not  like  to  meet  them. 

"  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present,"  said  the 
Spirit:  "Look  upon  me!  You  have  never  seen 
the  like  of  me  before  !''  exclaimed  the  Spirit. 

"  Never,"  Scrooge  made  answer  to  it. 

"Have  never  walked  forth  with  the  younger 
members  of  my  family  ;  meaning  (for  I  am  very 
young)  my  elder  brothers  born  in  these  later 
years  ?"  pursued  ihe  Phantom. 

"I  don't  think  I  have,"  said  Scrooge.  "lam 
afraid  I  have  not.  Have  you  had  many  brothers, 
Spirit?" 

"  More  than  eighteen  hundred,"  said  the  Ghost. 

**A  tremendous  family  to  provide  for,"  muttered 
Scrooge. 

The  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present  rose. 

"Spirit,"  said  Scrooge,  submissively,  "conduct 
me  where  you  will.  I  went  forth  last  night  on 
compulsion,  and  I  learnt  a  lesson  which  is  working 
now.  To  night,  if  you  have  aught  to  teach  me, 
let  me  profit  by  it." 

"Touch  my  robe  !" 

Scrooge  did  as  he  was  told,  and  held  it  fast. 

The  whole  scene  vanished  instantly  and  they 
stood  in  the  city  streets  on  Christmas  morning, 
where  (for  the  weather  was  severe)  the  people 
made  a  rough,  but  brisk  and  not  unpleasant  kmd 
of  music,  in  scraping  the  snow  from  the  pavement 
in  front  of  their  dwellings,  and  from  the  tops  of 
their  houses,  whence  it  was  mad  delight  to  the 
boys  to  see  it  come  plumping  down  into  the  road 


42  Christmas  Tale^. 

below,  aud  splitting  into  artificial  little  snow- 
storms. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  pleasure  the  good  Spirit  had 
in  showing  his  sympathy  with  all  poor  men,  that 
led  hmi  straight  to  Scrooge's  clerk's  ;  for  there  he 
went,  and  took  Scrooge  with  him,  holding  to  his 
robe  ;  and  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  the  spirit 
smiled,  and  stopped  to  bless  Bob  Cratchit's  dwell- 
ing with  the  sprinklings  of  his  torch. 

Then  up  rose  Mrs.  Cratchit,  Cratchit's  wife, 
dressed  out  but  poorly  in  a  twice-turned  gown,  but 
brave  in  ribbons,  which  are  cheap  and  make  a 
goodly  show;  and  she  laid  the  cloth,  assisted  by 
Belinda  Cratchit,  second  of  her  daughters,  also 
brave  in  ribbons ;  while  Master  Peter  Cratchit 
plunged  a  fork  into  the  saucepan  of  potatoes.  And 
now  two  smaller  Cratchits,  boy  and  girl,  came 
tearing  in,  screaming  that  outside  the  baker's  they 
had  smelt  the  goose,  and  known  it  for  their  own. 

"  What  has  ever  got  your  precious  father,  then?" 
said  Mrs.  Cratchit.  "And  your  brother,  Tiny  Tim  ! 
And  Martha  warn't  as  late  last  Christmas  Day  by 
half-an-hour  !" 

"  Here's  Martha,  mother,"  said  a  girl  appearing 
as  she  spoke. 

"  Here's  Martha,  mother."  cried  the  two  young 
Cratchits.  "Hurrah!  There's  such  a  goose, 
Martha  !" 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart  alive,  my  dear,  how  late 
you  are  !  "  said  Mrs.  Cratchit,  kissing  her  a  dozen 
times,  and  taking  off  her  shawl  and  bonnet  for  her 
with  officious  zeal. 

"We'd  a  deal  of  work  to  finish  up  last  night," 
replied  the  girl,  '  ■  and  had  to  clear  away  this  morn- 
ing, mother  !" 

"  Well !  never  mind  so  long  as  you  are  come," 
said  Mrs.  Cratchit.  "  Sit  ye  down  before  the  fire, 
my  dear,  aud  have  a  warm,  L,ord  bless  ye  !" 

"  No  no  !    There's  father  coming, ' '  cried  the  two 


A  Christmas  Carol.  45 

young  Cratchits,  who  were  everywhere  at  once. 
"  Hide.  Martha,  hide  !" 

So  Martha  hid  herself,  and  in  came  little  Bob, 
the  father,  with  at  least  three  feet  of  comforter  ex- 
clusive of  the  fringe  hanging  down  before  him  ;  and 
his  threadbare  clothes  (iarned  up  and  brushed,  to 
look  seasonable  ;  and  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder. 
Alas  for  Tiny  Tim,  be  bore  a  little  crutch,  and  had 
his  limhs  supported  by  an  iron  frame  ! 

"  Why,  Where's  our  Martha  ?"  cried  Bob  Cratchit 
looking  round. 

"Not  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Cratchit. 

"  Not  coming  !"  said  Bob.  with  a  sudden  declen- 
sion in  his  high  spirits  ;  for  he  had  been  Tim's 
blood  horse  all  the  way  from  church,  and  had  come 
home  rampant.  "Not  coming  upon  Christmas 
Day!" 

Martha  didn't  like  to  see  him  disappointed,  if  it 
were  only  in  joke  ;  so  she  came  out  premnturely 
from  behind  the  closet  door,  and  ran  into  his  arms, 
while  the  two  young  Cratchits  hustled  Tiny  Tim, 
and  bore  him  off  into  the  wash-house,  that  he 
might  hear  the  pudding  singiiig  in  the  copper. 

"And  how  did  little  Tim  behave?"  asked  Mrs. 
Cratchit,  when  she  had  rallied  Bob  on  his  credulity, 
and  Bob  had  hugged  his  daughter  to  his  heart's 
content. 

"As  good  as  gold,"  said  Bob, "  and  better.  Some- 
how he  gets  thoughtful,  sitting  by  himself  so  much, 
and  thinks  the  strangest  things  you  ever  heard. 
He  told  me,  coming  home,  that  he  hoped  the  peo- 
ple saw  him  in  the  church,  because  he  was  a  cripple, 
and  it  might  be  pleasant  to  them  to  remember 
upon  Christmas  Day,  who  made  lame  beggars  walk 
and  blind  men  see." 

Bob's  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  told  them 
this,  and  trembled  more  when  he  said  that  Tiny 
Tim  was  growing  strong  and  hearty. 

Hte  active  little  crutch  was  heard  upon  the  floor^ 


44  Christinas  Tales. 

and  back  came  Tiny  Tim  before  another  word  was 
spoken,  escorted  by  his  brother  and  sister  to  his 
stool  beside  the  fire  ;  and  Master  Peter  and  the  two 
ubiquitous  young  Cratchits  went  to  fetch  the 
goose,  with  which  they  soon  returned  in  high 
procession. 

Mrs.  Cratchit  made  the  gravy  (ready  beforehand 
in  a  little  saucepan)  hissing  hot ;  Master  Peter 
mashed  the  potatoes  with  incredible  vigor ;  Miss 
Belinda  sweeteued  up  the  apple  sauce;  Martha 
dusted  the  hot-plates ;  Bob  took  Tiny  Tim  beside 
him  in  a  tiny  corner  at  the  table  ;  the  two  young 
Cratchits  set  chairs  for  everybody,  not  forgetting 
themselves,  and  mounting  guard  upon  their  posts, 
crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths,  lest  they  should 
shriek  for  goose  before  their  turn  came  to  be 
helped.  At  last  the  dishes  were  set  on,  and  grace 
was  said.  It  was  succeeded  by  a  breathless  pause, 
as  Mrs.  Cratchit,  looking  slowly  all  along  the 
carving-knife,  prepared  to  plunge  it  in  the  brea<5t ; 
but  when  she  did,  and  when  the  long-expected 
gush  of  stuffing  issued  forth,  one  murmur  of  de- 
light arose  all  round  the  board,  and  even  Tiny  Tim, 
excited  by  the  two  young  Cratchits.  beat  on  the 
table  with  the  handle  of  his  knife,  and  feebly  cried 
Hurrah  ! 

There  never  was  such  a  goose.  Bob  said  he  didn't 
believe  there  ever  was  such  a  goose  cooked.  Its 
tenderness  and  flavor,  size  and  cheapness,  were  the 
themes  of  universal  admiration.  Eked  out  by 
apple  sauce  and  mashed  potatoes,  it  was  a  sufficient 
dinner  for  the  whole  family ;  indeed,  as  Mrs. 
Cratchit  said  with  great  delight  (surveying  one 
small  atom  of  a  bone  upon  the  dish),  they  hadn't 
ate  it  all  at  last  !  Yet  every  one  had  had  enough. 
But  now  the  plates  being  changed  by  Miss  Belinda, 
Mrs.  Cratchit  left  the  room  alone — too  nervous  to 
bear  witnesses — to  take  the  pudding  up,  and  bring 
it  in. 


A  Chndrrvas  CaroL  45 

Oh,  a  wonderful  pudding  !  Bob  Cratchit  said, 
and  calmly  too,  that  he  regarded  it  as  the  greatest 
success  achieved  by  Mrs.  Cratchit  since  their  mar- 
riage. Mrs.  Cratchit  said  that  now  the  weight  was 
off  her  mind,  she  would  confess  she  had  her  doubts 
about  the  quantity  of  flour.  Everybody  had  some- 
thing to  say  about  it,  but  nobody  said  or  thought 
it  was  at  all  a  stnall  pudding  for  a  large  family.  It 
would  have  been  flat  heresy  to  do  so.  Any  Cratchit 
would  have  blushed  to  hint  at  such  a  thing. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  all  done,  the  cloth  was 
cleared,  the  hearth  swept,  and  the  fire  made  up. 
Apples  and  oranges  were  put  upon  the  table  and  a 
shovelful  of  chestnuts  on  the  fire.  Then  all  the 
Cratchit  family  drew  round  the  hearth,  in  what 
Bob  Cratchit  called  a  circle,  meaning  half  a  one. 
Then  Bob  proposed:  "A  Merry  Christmas  to  all, 
my  dears.     God  bless  us  !  " 

Which  all  the  family  re-echoed. 

*'  God  bless  us,  every  one  !  "  said  Tiny  Tim,  the 
last  of  all. 

He  sat  very  c^ose  to  his  father's  side,  upon  his 
little  stoul.  Bob  held  his  withered  little  hand  in 
his,  as  if  he  loved  the  child  an<l  wished  to  keep 
him  by  his  side,  and  dreaded  that  he  might  be 
taken  from  him. 

"Spirit,"  said  Scrooge,  with  an  interest  he  had 
never  felt  before,  "tell  me  if  Tiny  Tim  will  live." 

"  I  see  a  vacant  seat, ' '  replied  the  Ghost,  "  in  the 
poor  chimney  corner,  and  a  crutch  without  an 
owner,  carefully  preserved.  If  these  shadows  re- 
main unaltered  by  the  Future  the  child  will  die." 

"No,  no, "  said  Scrooge.  "  Oh,  no,  kind  Spirit ! 
say  he  will  be  spared." 

"If  these  shadows  remain  unaltered  by  the 
Fiiture  none  other  of  my  race,"  returned  the 
Ghost,  "will  find  him  here.  What  then?  If  he 
be  like  to  die,  he  had  better  do  it,  and  decrease  the 
surplus  population." 


46  Christunas  Tales. 

Scrooge  hung  his  head  to  hear  his  own  words 
■quoted  by  the  Spirit,  and  was  overcome  with  peni- 
tence and  grief. 

"Man,"  said  the  Ghost,  "if  man  you  be  in 
heart,  not  adamant,  forbear  that  wicked  cant  until 
you  have  discovered  what  the  surplus  is  and  where 
it  is.  Will  you  decide  what  men  shall  live,  what 
men  shall  die?  It  may  be  that  in  the  sight  of 
Heaven  you  are  more  worthless  and  less  fit  to  live 
than  millionslike  this  poor  man's  child.  Oh,  God  ! 
to  hear  the  insect  on  the  leaf  pronouncing  on  the 
too  much  life  among  his  hungry  brothers  in  the 
dust!" 

Scrooge  bent  before  the  Ghost's  rebuke,  and 
trembling  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  ground.  But  he 
raised  them  speedily  on  hearing  his  own  name. 

"  Mr.  Scrooge  !  "  said  Bob  ;  "I'll  give  you  Mr. 
Scrooge,  the  Founder  of  the  Feast !  " 

"  The  Founder  of  the  Feast  indeed  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Cratchit,  reddening.  "1  wish  I  had  him  here. 
I'd  give  him  a  piece  of  ray  mind  to  feast  upon,  and 
I  hope  he'd  have  a  good  appetite  for  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Bob,  "  the  children  !  Christmas 
day." 

Scrooge  was  the  Ogre  of  the  family.  The  men- 
tion of  his  name  cast  a  dark  shadow  on  the  party, 
which  was  not  dispelled  for  full  five  minutes. 

After  it  had  passed  away,  they  were  ten  times 
merrier  than  before,  from  the  mere  relief  of 
Scrooge  the  Baleful  being  done  with.  Bob  Cratchit 
told  them  how  he  had  a  situation  in  his  eye  for 
Master  Peter.  The  two  young  Cratchits  laughed 
tremendously  at  the  idea  of  Peter's  being  a  man  of 
"business ;  and  Peter  himself  looked  thoughtfully 
at  the  fire  from  between  his  collars,  as  if  he  were 
deliberating  what  particular  investments  he  should 
favor  when  he  came  into  receipt  of  the  bewilder- 
ing income.  Martha,  who  was  a  poor  apprentice 
.at  a  milliner's,  then  told  them  what  kind  of  work 


A  Christmas  Carol.  47 

she  had  to  do,  and  how  many  hours  she  worked  at 
a  stretch,  and  how  she  meant  to  he  abed  to-mor- 
row morning  for  a  good  long  rest,  to-morrow  being 
a  hohday  she  passed  at  home.  Also  how  she  had 
seen  a  countess  and  a  lord  some  days  before,  and 
how  the  lord  "was  much  about  as  tall  as  Peter, " 
at  "which  Peter  pulled  up  his  collars  so  high  that 
you  couldn't  have  seen  his  head  if  you  had  been 
there.  By  and  by  they  had  a  song,  about  a  lost 
child  traveling  in  the  snow,  from  Tiny  Tim,  who 
had  a  plaintive  little  voice,  and  sang  it  very  well 
indeed. 

There  was  nothing  of  high  mark  in  this.  They' 
were  not  a  handsome  family  ;  they  were  not  well 
dressed  ;  their  shoes  were  far  from  being  water- 
proof; their  clothes  were  scanty  ;  and  Peter  might 
have  known,  and  very  likely  did,  the  inside  of  a 
pawnbroker's.  But  they  \vere  happy,  grateful, 
pleased  with  one  another,  and  contented  with  the 
time;  and  when  they  faded,  and  looked  happier 
yet  in  the  bright  sprinklings  of  the  Spirit's  torch 
at  parting,  Scrooge  had  his  eye  upon  them,  and 
especially  on  Tiny  Tim,  uniil  the  last. 

By  this  time  it  was  getting  dark  and  snowing 
pretty  heavily  ;  and  as  Scrooge  and  the  Spirit  went 
along  the  streets,  the  brightness  of  the  roaring 
fires  in  kitchens,  parlors,  and  all  sorts  of  rooms, 
was  wonderful.  Here,  the  flickering  of  the  blaee 
showtd  preparations  for  a  cosy  dinner,  with  hot 
plates  baking  through  and  through  before  the  fire, 
and  deep  red  curtains,  ready  to  be  drawn  to  shut 
out  cold  and  darkness.  There,  all  the  children  of 
the  house  were  running  out  into  the  snow  to  meet 
their  married  sisters,  brothers,  cousins,  uncles, 
aunts,  and  be  the  first  to  greet  them. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Scrooge,  as  he  medi- 
tated on  tnese  scenes,  to  hear  a  hearty  laugh.  It 
was  a  much  greater  surprise  to  Scrooge  to  recog- 
nize it  as  his  own  nephew's,  and  to  find  himself  in. 


48  Christmas  Tales. 

a  bright,  drj^,  gleaming  room,  with  the  Spirit 
standing  smiling  by  his  side,  and  looking  at  that 
same  nephew  with  approving  afifability  ! 

"  Ila  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Scrooge's  nephew.  "  Ha  ! 
ha!  ha!" 

If  you  should  happen,  by  any  unlikely  chance, 
to  know  a  man  more  blessed  in  a  lauph  than 
Scrooge's  nephew,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  should  like  to 
know  him  too.  Introduce  him  to  me,  and  I'll  cul- 
tivate his  acquaintance. 

It  is  a  fair,  even-handed,  noble  adjustment  of 
things  that  while  there  is  infection  in  disease  and 
sorrow,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  irresistibly 
contagious  as  laughter  and  good-humor.  When 
Scrooge's  nephew  laughed  in  this  way,  holding  his 
sides,  rolling  his  head,  and  twisting  his  face  into 
the  most  extravagant  contortions,  Scrooge's  niece, 
by  marriage,  laughed  as  heartily  as  he.  And  their 
assembled  friends  being  not  a  bit  behindhand, 
roared  out  lustily. 

*'Ha,  ha!     Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

"He  said  that  Christmas  was  a  humbug,  as  I 
live  !  "  cried  Scrooge's  nephew.  "  He  believed  it, 
too." 

"More  shame  for  him,  Fred  !  "  said  Scrooge's 
niece,  indignantly.  Bless  those  women  !  they 
never  do  anything  by  halves.  They  are  always  in 
earnest. 

She  was  very  pretty  ;  exceedingly  pretty.  With 
a  dimpled,  surprised- looking,  capital  face  ;  a  ripe 
little  mouth  that  seemed  made  to  be  kissed — as  no 
doubt  it  was  ;  all  kinds  of  good  little  dots  about 
her  chin,  that  melted  into  one  another  when  she 
laughed;  and  the  sunniest  pair  of  eyes  you  ever 
saw  in  any  little  creature's  head.  Altogether  she 
was  what  you  would  have  called  provoking,  you 
know  ;  but  satisfactory,  too.  Oh,  perfectly  satis- 
factory. 

"He's  a  comical  old  fellow,"   said    Scrooge's 


A  Christmas  Carol.  49 

nephew,  "  that's  the  truth  :  and  not  so  pleasant  as 
he  might  be.  However,  his  offences  carry  their 
own  punishment,  and  I  have  nothing  to  say  against 
him." 

"I  have  no  patience  with  him,"  observed 
Scrooge's  niece.  Scrooge's  niece's  sisters,  and  all 
the  other  ladies,  expressed  the  same  opinion. 

'*  Oh,  I  have  !  "  said  Scrooge's  nephew.  "  I  am 
sorry  for  him  ;  I  couldn't  be  angry  with  him  if  I 
tried.  Who  suffers  by  his  ill  whims  !  Himself,  al- 
ways. Here,  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  dislike 
us,  and  he  won't  come  and  dine  with  us.  What's 
the  consequence?  He  don't  lose  much  of  a  din- 
ner." 

*'  Indeed,  I  think  he  loses  a  very  good  dinner," 
interrupted  Scrooge's  niece.  Everybody  else  said 
the  same,  and  they  must  be  allowed  to  have  been 
competent  judges,  because  they  had  just  had  din- 
ner ;  and  with  the  dessert  upon  the  table,  were 
clustered  round  the  fire,  bv  lamp-light. 

"  Well !  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Scrooge's 
nephew,  "because  I  haven't  any  great  faith  in 
these  young  housekeepers.  What  do  you  say, 
Topper?" 

Topper  had  clearly  got  his  eye  upon  one  of 
Scrooge's  niece's  sisters,  for  he  answered  that  a 
bachelor  was  a  wretched  outcast,  who  had  no  right 
to  express  an  opinion  on  the  subject.  Whereat 
Scrooge's  niece's  sister — the  plump  one  with  the 
lace  tuc'Kcr  :  not  the  one  with  the  roses — blushed. 

"Do  go  on,  Fred,"  said  Scrooge's  niece,  clap- 
ping her  hands.  "He  never  finishes  what  he  be- 
gins to  say !     He  is  such  a  ridiculous  fellow  !  " 

*'I  was  only  going  to  say,"  said  Scrooge's 
nephew,  "that  the  consequence  of  his  taking  a 
dislike  to  us,  and  not  making  merry  with  us,  Is, 
as  I  think,  that  he  loses  some  pleasant  moments, 
which  could  do  him  no  liarm.  I  am  sure  lie  loses 
pleasanter  companions  than  he  can  find  in  his  own 


50  Christmas  Tales, 

thoughts,  either  in  his  mouldy  old  office,  or  his 
dusty  chambers.  I  mean  to  give  him  the  same 
chance  every  year,  whether  he  likes  it  or  not, 
for  I  pity  him.  He  may  rail  at  Christmas  till 
he  dies,  but  be  can't  help  thinking  better  of  it — I 
defy  him — if  he  Unds  me  going  there,  in  good  tem- 
per, year  after  year,  and  saying,  *  Uncle  Scrooge, 
how  are  you  ?  *  If  it  only  puts  him  in  the  vein  to 
leave  his  poor  clerk  fifty  pounds,  that's  some- 
thing ;  and  I  think  I  shook  him  yesterda)\" 

It  was  their  turn  to  laugh  now,  at  the  notion  of 
his  shaking  Scrooge.  But  being  thoroughly  good- 
natured,  and  not  much  caring  what  they  laughed 
at,  so  that  they  laughed  at  any  rate,  he  encouraged 
them  in   their  merriment. 

After  tea  they  had  some  music.  Scrooge's  niece 
played  well ;  and  played  among  other  tunes  a  simple 
little  air  (a  mere  nothing  :  you  might  learn  to  whis- 
tle it  in  two  minutes),  which  liia«l  been  familiar  to  the 
child  who  fetched  Scrooge  from  the  boarding- 
school,  SLi  he  had  been  reminded  by  the  Ghost  of 
Christmas  Past.  When  this  strain  of  music 
sounded,  all  the  things  that  the  Ghost  had  shown 
him,  came  upon  his  mind  ;  he  softened  more  and 
more  ;  and  thought  that  if  he  could  have  listened 
to  it  often,  years  ago,  he  might  have  cultivated  the 
kindnesses  of  life  for  his  own  happiness  with  his 
own  hands,  without  resorting  to  the  sexton's 
spade  that  buried  Jacob  Marley. 

But  they  didn't  devote  the  whole  evening  to  mu- 
sic. After  awhile  they  played  at  forfeits  ;  for  it  is 
good  to  be  children  sometimes,  and  never  better 
than  at  Christmas,  when  its  migh'.y  founder  was  a 
child  himself. 

Stop  !  There  was  first  a  glo'.ious  game  at  b.ind- 
man's  buff.  Of  course  there  <Nas,.  And  I  no  more 
believe  Topper  was  really  olind  than  I  believe 
he  had  e3'e3  in  his  boots.  My  opinion  is,  that 
it  was  a  done  thing  between  hiir  and  Scrooge's 


A  Christmas  Carol.  51 

nephew  ;  and  that  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present 
knew  it.  The  way  he  went  after  that  plump  sis- 
ter in  the  lace  tucker,  was  an  outrage  on  the  cre- 
dulity of  human  nature.  Knocking  down  the  fire- 
irons,  tumbling  over  the  chairs,  bumping  up 
against  the  piano,  smothering  himself  amongst 
the  curtains,  wherever  she  went,  there  went  he  ! 
He  always  knew  where  the  plump  sister  was.  He 
wouldn't  catch  anybody  else.  If  you  had  fallen 
up  against  him,  (as  some  of  them  did)  on  purpose, 
he  would  have  made  a  feint  of  endeavoring  to 
seize  you,  which  would  have  been  an  affront  to 
your  understanding,  and  would  instantly  have 
sidled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  plump  sister. 
She  often  cried  out  tliPit  it  wasn't  fair;  and  it 
really  was  not.  But  when  at  last,  he  caught  her; 
when,  in  spite  of  all  her  silken  rustlings,  and  her 
rapid  flutterings  past  him,  he  got  her  into  a  cor- 
ner whence  there  was  no  escape  ;  then  his  conduct 
was  the  most  execrable.  For  his  pretending  not 
to  know  her ;  his  pretending  that  it  was  necessary 
to  touch  her  head-dress,  and  further  to  as<5ure  him- 
self of  her  identity  by  pressing  a  certain  ringupon 
her  fin.:er,  and  a  certain  chain  about  her  neck ;  was 
vile,  monstrous  !  No  doubt  she  told  him  her  opin- 
ion of  it  when,  another  blind-man  being  in  office, 
they  were  so  very  confidential  together,  behind 
the  curtains. 

Scrooge's  niece  was  not  one  of  the  blind-man's 
buflf  party,  but  was  made  comfortable  with  a  large 
chair  and  a  footstool,  in  a  snug  corner  where  the 
Ghost  and  Scrooge  were  close  behind  her.  But 
she  joined  in  the  forfeits,  and  loved  her  love  to  ad- 
miration with  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet. 
Likewise  at  the  game  of  How,  When,  and  Where, 
she  was  very  great,  and,  to  the  secret  joy  of 
Scrooge's  nephew,  beat  her  sisters  hollow  :  though 
they  were  sharp  girls  too,  as  Topper  could  have 
told  you.     There  might  have  been  twenty  people 


52  Christmas  Tales. 

there,  young  and  old,  but  they  all  played^  and  so 
did  Scrooge  ;  for,  wholly  forgetting  in  the  interest 
he  had  in  what  was  going  on,  that  his  voice  made 
no  sound  in  their  ears,  he  sometimes  came  out 
with  his  guess  quite  loud,  and  very  often  guessed 
right,  too  ;  for  the  sharpest  needle,  warranted  not 
to  cut  in  the  eye,  was  not  sharper  than  Scrooge ; 
blunt  as  he  took  it  in  his  head  to  be. 

The  Ghost  was  greatly  pleased  to  find  him  in 
this  mood,  and  looked  upon  him  with  such  favor, 
that  he  begged  like  a  boy  to  be  allowed  to  stay 
until  the  guests  departed.  But  this  the  Spirit  said 
could  not  be  done.  The  whole  scene  passed  off ; 
and  he  and  the  Spirit  were  again  upon  thth 
travels. 

Much  they  saw,  and  far  they  went,  and  many 
homes  they  visited,  but  always  with  a  happy  end. 
The  Spirit  stood  beside  sick  beds,  and  they  were 
cheerful  ;  on  foreign  lands,  and  they  were  close  at 
home;  by  struggling  men,  and  they  were  patient 
in  their  greater  hope  ;  by  poverty,  and  it  was  rich. 
In  almshouse,  hospital,  and  jail,  in  miser>''s  every 
refuge,  where  vain  man  in  his  little  brief  author- 
ity had  not  made  fast  the  door,  and  barred  the 
Spirit  out,  he  left  his  blessing,  and  taught  Scrooge 
his  precepts. 

It  was  a  long  night,  if  it  were  only  a  night ;  but 
Scrooge  had  his  doubts  of  this,  because  the  Christ- 
mas Holidays  appeared  to  be  condensed  into  the 
space  of  time  they  parsed  together.  It  was 
strange,  too,  that  while  Scrooge  remained  unal- 
tered in  his  outward  form,  the  Ghost  grew  older, 
clearly  older  ! 

"Forgi\e  me  if  I  am  not  justified  in  what  lask,'' 
said  Scrooge,  looking  intently  at  the  Spirit's  robe. 
"  but  I  see  something  strange,  and  not  belonging 
to  yourself,  protruding  from  your  skirts.  Is  it  a 
foot  or  a  claw  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  a  claw,  for  the  flesh  there  is  upon 


A  Christmas  Carol.  53 

it,"    was    the    Spirit's    sorro.vful    reply.     ''Look 
here." 

From  the  foldings  of  its  robe,  it  brought  two 
children  ;  wretched,  abject,  frightful,  hideous,  mis- 
erable. They  knelt  down  at  its  feet,  and  clung 
upon  the  outside  of  its  garment. 

They  were  a  boy  and  girl.  Yellow,  meagre, 
ragged,  scowling,  wolfish  ;  but  prostrate,  too,  in 
their  humility.  Where  graceful  youth  should  have 
filled  iheir  features  out,  and  touched  them  with  its 
freshest  tints,  a  stale  and  shriveled  hand,  like  that 
of  age,  had  pinched,  and  twisted  them,  and  pulled 
them  iuto  shreds.  Where  angels  might  have  sat 
enthroned,  devils  lurked,  and  glared  out  menac- 
ing No  change,  no  degradation,  no  perversion  of 
humanity,  in  any  grade,  through  all  the  mysteries 
of  wonderful  creation,  has  monsters  half  so  horri- 
ble and  dread. 

Scrooge  started  back,  appalled.  Having  them 
shown  to  him  in  this  way,  he  tried  to  s  ly  they 
were  fine  children,  but  the  words  choked  them- 
selves, rather  than  be  parties  to  a  lie  of  such  enor- 
mous magnitude. 

"Spirit,  are  they  yours?"  Scrooge  could  say 
no  more. 

''They  are  Man's."  said  the  Spirit,  looking 
down  upon  them.  "And  they  cling  to  me,  ap- 
pealing from  their  fathers.  This  boy  is  Ignorance. 
This  girl  is  Want.  Beware  of  them  both,  and  all  of 
their  degree,  but  most  of  all  beware  of  this  boy." 

"Have  they  no  refuge  or  resource?"  cried 
Scrooge. 

' '  Are  there  no  prisons  ?  ' '  said  the  Spirit,  turning 
on  him  for  the  last  time  with  his  own  words. 
"  Are  there  no  work-houses  ?  " 

The  bell  struck  twelve. 

Scrooge  looked  about  him  for  the  Ghost,  and 
saw  it  not.  As  the  last  stroke  ceased  to  vibrate, 
he  remembered  the  prediction  of  old  Jacob  Mar- 


64  Christmas  Tales, 

ley,  and  lifting  up  his  eyes,  beheld  a  solemn 
Phantom,  draped  and  hooded,  coming  like  a  mist 
along  the  ground  toward  him. 


Stavb  Four, 
the  last  of  thk  spirits. 

The  Phantom  slowly,  gravely,  silently,  ap- 
proached. When  it  came  near  him,  Scrooge  bent 
down  upon  his  knee ;  for  in  the  very  air  through 
which  this  Spirit  moved  it  seemed  to  scatter  gloom 
and  mystery. 

It  was  shrouded  in  a  deep  black  garment,  which 
concealed  its  head,  its  face,  its  form,  and  left  noth- 
ing of  it  visible,  save  one  outstretched  hand.  But 
for  this  it  would  have  been  diflScult  to  detach  its 
figure  from  the  night,  and  separate  it  from  the 
darkness  by  which  it  was  surrounded. 

He  felt  that  it  was  tail  and  stately  when  it  came 
beside  him,  and  that  its  mysterious  presence  filled 
him  with  a  solemn  dread.  He  knew  no  more,  for 
the  Spirit  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  Ghost  of  Christ- 
mas Yet  To  Come  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

The  Spirit  answered  not,  but  pointed  onward 
with  its  hand, 

"You  are  about  to  show  me  shadows  of  the 
things  that  have  not  happened,  but  will  happen  in 
the  time  before  us,"  Scrooge  pursued.  "Is  that 
so,  Spirit?" 

The  upper  portion  of  the  garment  was  contracted 
for  an  instant  in  its  folds,  as  if  the  Spirit  had  m- 
clined  its  head.  That  was  the  only  answer  he 
received. 

Although  well  used  to  ghostly  company  by  this 


A  Chrhstmas  Carol.  5o 

time,  Scrooge  feared  the  silent  shape  so  much  that 
his  legs  trembled  beneath  him,  and  he  found  that 
he  couid  hardly  stand  when  he  prepared  to  follow 
it  The  Spirit  paused  a  moment,  as  observing  his 
condition,  and  giving  him  time  to  recover. 

But  Scrooge  was  all  the  worse  for  this.  It 
thrilled  him  with  a  vague  uncertain  horror,  to 
know  that  behind  the  dusky  shroud,  there  were 
ghostly  eyes  intently  fixed  upon  him,  while  he, 
though  he  stretched  his  own  to  the  utmost,  could 
see  nothing  but  a  spectral  hand  and  one  great  heap 
of  black. 

"  Ghost  of  the  Future  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  fear 
you  more  than  any  spectre  I  have  seen.  But  as  I 
know  your  purpose  is  to  do  me  good  and  as  I  hope 
to  live  to  be  another  man  from  what  I  was,  I  am 
prepared  to  bear  you  company,  and  do  it  with  a 
thankful  heart.     Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?  " 

It  gave  him  no  reply.  The  hand  was  pointed 
straight  before  them. 

"Lead  on!  '  said  Scrooge.  "Lead  on  !  The 
night  is  waning  fast,  and  it  is  precious  time  to  me, 
I  know.     Lead  on,  Spirit !  " 

The  Phantom  moved  away  as  it  had  come  to- 
ward him.  Scrooge  followed  in  the  shadow  of  its 
dress,  wHich  bore  him  up,  he  thought,  and  carried 
him  along. 

They  scarcely  seemed  to  enter  the  city  ;  for  the 
city  rather  seemed  to  spring  up  about  them,  and 
encompass  them  of  its  own  act.  But  there  they 
were  in  the  heart  of  it ;  on  'Change,  amongst  the 
merchants ;  who  hurried  up  and  down,  and 
chinked  the  money  in  their  pockets,  and  con- 
versed in  groups,  and  looked  at  their  watches,  and 
trifled  thoughtfully  with  their  great  gold  seals ; 
and  so  forth,  as  Scrooge  had  seen  them  often. 

The  Spirit  stopped  beside  one  little  knot  of  busi- 
ness men.  Observing  that  the  hand  was  pointed 
to  them,  Scrooge  advanced  to  listen  to  their  talk. 


56  Christmas  Tales, 

"No,"  said  a  great  fat  man  with  a  monstrous 
chin,  **  I  don't  know  much  about  it  either  way.  I 
only  know  he's  dead." 

"  When  did  he  die?  "  inquired  another. 

"Last  night,  I  believe." 

"  What  has  he  done  with  his  money  ?  "  asked  a 
red-faced  gentleman  with  a  pendulous  excrescence 
on  the  end  of  his  nose,  that  shook  like  the  gills  of 
a  turkey-cock. 

*'I  haven't  heard,"  said  the  man  with  the  large 
chin,  yawning  again.  '"Left  it  to  his  company, 
perhaps.  He  hasn't  lefc  it  to  rne.  That's  all  I 
know." 

This  pleasantry  was  received  with  a  general 
laugh. 

"  It's  likely  to  be  a  very  cheap  funeral,"  said  the 
same  speaker;  "  for  upon  my  life  I  don't  know  of 
anybody  to  go  to  it.  Suppose  we  make  up  a  party 
and  volunteer?  " 

"I  don't  mind  going  if  a  lunch  is  provided," 
observed  the  gentleman  with  the  excrescence  on 
his  nose.     "  But  I  must  be  fed,  if  I  make  one." 

Another  laugh. 

"Well,  I  am  the  most  disinterested  among  you, 
after  all,"  said  the  first  speaker,  **  for  I  never  wear 
black  gloves,  and  I  never  eat  lunch.  But  I'll  offer 
to  go,  if  anybody  else  will.  When  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I  wasn't  his  most  par- 
ticular friend  ;  for  we  used  to  stop  and  speak  when- 
ever we  met.     Bye,  bye  !  " 

Speakers  and  listeners  strolled  away,  and  mixed 
with  other  groups.  Scrooge  knew  the  men,  and 
looked  toward  the  Spirit  for  explanation.  He  was 
at  first  inclined  to  be  surprised  that  the  Spirit 
should  attach  importance  to  conversations  appar- 
ently so  trivial;  but  feeling  assured  that  they 
must  have  some  hidden  purpose,  he  set  himself  to 
consider  what  it  was  likely  to  be.  They  could 
scarcely  be  supposed  to  have  any  bearing  on  the 


A  Christmas  Carol,  57 

death  of  Jacob,  his  old  partner,  for  that  was  past, 
aud  this  Ghost's  province  was  the  future.  Nor 
could  he  think  of  any  one  immediately  connected 
with  himself,  to  whom  he  could  apply  them. 

They  left  the  busv  scene,  and  went  into  an 
obscure  part  of  the  town,  where  Scrooge  had  never 
penetrated  before,  although  he  recognized  its 
situation  and  its  bad  repute.  The  ways  were  foul 
and  narrow;  the  shops  and  houses  wretched  ;  the 
people  half-naked,  drunken,  slipshod,  ugly.  Alleys 
and  archways,  like  so  many  cesspools,  disgorged 
their  offences  of  smell,  and  di^t,  and  life,  upon  the 
stragi^ling  streets ;  aud  the  whole  quarter  reeked 
with  crime,  with  filth  and  misery. 

Far  in  this  den  of  infamous  resort,  there  was  a 
low-browed,  beetling  shop,  below  a  pent-hous& 
roof,  where  iron,  old  rags,  bottles,  bones,  and 
greasy  offal  were  bought.  Upon  the  floor  within, 
were  piled  up  heaps  of  rusty  keys,  nails,  chains, 
hinges,  files  scales,  weights,  and  refu-e  iron  of  all 
kinds.  Secrets  that  few  would  like  to  scrutinize 
were  bred  and  hidden  in  mountains  of  unseemly 
rags,  masses  of  corrupted  fat,  and  sepulchres  of 
bones.  Sittingin  among  the  wares  1  e  dealt  in,  by 
a  charcoal  stove,  made  of  old  bricks,  was  a  grey- 
haired  rascal,  nearly  seventy  years  of  age ;  who 
had  screened  himself  from  the  cold  air  w-thout,  by 
a  frowsy  curtaining  of  miscellaneous  tatters  hung 
upon  a  line ;  and  smoked  his  pipe  in  all  the  luxury 
of  calm  retirement. 

Scrooge  and  the  Phantom  came  into  the  presence 
of  this  man,  just  as  a  woman  with  a  heavy  bundle 
slunk  into  the  shop.  But  she  had  scarcely  entered, 
when  another  woman,  similarly  laden,  came  in 
too;  and  she  was  closely  followed  bv  a  man  in 
faded  black,  who  was  no  less  startled  by  the  sight 
of  them,  than  they  had  been  upon  the  recognition 
of  each  other.  After  a  short  period  of  blank 
astonishment,  in  which  the  old  man  with  a  pipe 


-58  Christmas  Tales. 

had  joined  them,  they  all  three  burst  into  a 
laugh. 

"Let  the  charwoman  alone  to  be  the  first!" 
•cried  she  who  had  entered  first.  *'  Let  the  laun- 
dress alone  to  be  the  second  ;  and  let  the  under- 
taker's man  alone  to  be  the  third.  Look  here,  old 
Joe,  here's  a  chance  !  If  we  haven't  all  three  met 
here  without  meaning  it !  " 

*'  You  couldn't  have  met  in  a  better  place,"  said 
old  Joe,  removing.his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  "  Come 
into  the  parlor." 

The  parlor  was  the  space  behind  the  screen  of 
rags.  The  old  man  raked  the  fire  together  with  an 
old  stair-rod,  and  having  trimmed  his  smoky  lamp 
(fcr  it  was  night),  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  put  it 
into  his  mouth  again. 

While  he  did  this,  the  woman  who  had  already 
■spoken  threw  her  bundle  on  the  floor  and  sat  down 
in  a  flaunting  manner  on  a  stool  ;  crossing  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  and  looking  with  a  bold 
•defiance  at  the  other  two.  "Now,  then! "cried 
the  woman.  "Who's  the  worse  for  the  loss  of  a 
few  things  like  these?  Not  a  dead  man,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Dilber,  laughing. 

"If  he  wanted  to  keep  'em  after  he  was  dead,  a 
wicked  old  screw,"  pursued  the  woman,  "why 
wasn't  he  natural  in  his  lifetime  ?  If  he  had  been, 
he'd  have  had  somebody  to  look  after  him  when 
he  was  struck  with  Death,  instead  of  lying  gasping 
out  his  last  there,  alone  by  himself." 

"It's  the  truest  word  that  ever  was  spoke,"  said 
Mrs.  Dilber.     "It's  a  judgment  on  him. " 

"  I  wish  it  was  a  little  heavier  judgment,"  replied 
the  woman;  "and  it  should  have  been,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  if  I  could  have  laid  my  hands  on 
anything  else.  Open  that  bundle,  old  Joe,  and  let 
me  know  the  value  of  it.  Speak  out  plain.  I'm 
not  afraid  to  be  the  first,  nor  afraid  for  them  to  see 


A  Christmas  Carol.  59 

it.  "We  knew  pretty  well  that  we  were  helping 
ourselves,  before  we  met  here,  I  believe.  Open 
the  bundle,  Joe." 

But  the  gallantry  of  her  friends  would  not  allow 
of  this  ;  and  the  man  in  faded  black,  mounting  ihe 
breach  first,  produced  /lis  plunder.  It  was  not 
extensive.  A  seal  or  two,  a  pencil-case,  a  pair  of 
sleeve  buttons,  and  a  brooch  of  no  great  value, 
were  all.  They  were  severally  examined  and 
appraised  by  old  Joe,  who  chalked  the  sums  he 
was  disposed  to  give  for  each,  upon  the  wall,  and 
added  them  up  into  a  total  when  he  found  that 
there  was  nothing  more  to  come. 

*'  That's  your  account,"  said  Joe,  "and  I  wouldn't 
give  another  sixpence,  if  I  was  to  be  boiled  for  not 
doing  it.     Who's  next?" 

Mrs.  Dilber  was  next.  Sheets  and  towels,  a 
little  wearing  apparel,  two  old-fashioned  silver  tea- 
spoons, a  pair  of  sugar-tongs,  and  a  few  boots.  Her 
account  was  stated  on  the  wall  in  the  same  manner. 

*'  I  always  give  too  much  to  ladies.  It's  a  weak- 
ness of  mine,  and  that's  the  way  I  ruin  myself," 
said  old  Joe.  "  That's  your  account.  If  you  asked 
me  for  another  penny,  and  made  it  an  open  ques- 
tion, I'd  repent  of  being  so  liberal,  and  knock  off 
half-a-crown." 

"  And  now  undo  my  bundle,  Joe,"  said  the  first 
woman. 

Joe  went  down  on  his  knees  for  the  greater  con- 
vcDience  of  opening  it.  and  having  unfastened  a 
great  many  knots,  dragged  out  a  large  heavy  roll 
of  some  dark  stuff. 

"  What  do  you  call  this  ?  "  said  Joe.  "  Bed  cur- 
tains ! " 

"Ah!"  returned  the  woman,  laughing  and 
leaning  forward  on  her  crossed  arms.  "  Bed  cur- 
tains ! " 

^  "  You   don't  mean  to   say  you   took  'em  down 
rings  and  all,  with  him  lying  there  ?  "  said  Joe. 


60  Christmas  Tales, 

"Yes,  I  do,"  replied  the  woman.     "  Why  not  ?  '* 

"  You  were  born  to  make  your  fortune/'  said 
Joe,  "  and  you'll  certainly  do  it." 

**  I  certainly  shan't  hold  my  hand,  when  I  can 
get  anything  in  it  by  reaching  it  out,  for  the  sake 
of  such  a  man  as 'he  was,  I  promise  you,  Joe," 
returned  the  woman  coolly.  "Don't  drop  that  oil 
upon  the  blankets,  now." 

"  His  blankets?  "   asked  Joe. 

"Whose  else's  do  you  think?"  replied  the 
woman.  "He  isn't  likely  to  take  cold  without 
*em,  I  dare  say." 

"I  hope  he  didn't  die  of  anything  catching? 
Eh?"  said  old  Joe,  stopping  in  his  work,  and 
looking  up. 

"Don't  you  be  afraid  of  that,"  returned  the 
woman.  "  I  an't  so  fond  of  his  company  that  I'd 
loiter  about  him  for  such  things,  if  he  did.  Ah  ! 
you  may  look  through  that  shirt  till  your  eyes 
ache  ;  but  you  won't  find  a  hole  in  it,  nor  a  thread- 
bare place.  It's  the  best  he  had,  and  a  fine  one 
too.  They'd  have  wasted  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
me." 

"What  do  you  call  wasting  of  it?"  asked  old 
Joe. 

"Putting  it  on  him  to  be  buried  in,  to  be  sure," 
replied  the  woman  with  a  laugh.  "Somebody  was 
fool  enough  to  do  it,  but  I  took  it  off  again.^  If 
calico  ain't  good  enough  for  such  a  purpose,  it  isn't 
good  enough  for  anything.  It's  quite  as  becoming 
to  the  body.  He  can't  look  uglier  than  he  did  in 
that  one." 

Scrooge  listened  to  this  dialogue  in  horror.  As 
they  sat  grouped  about  their  spoil,  in  the  scanty 
light  afforded  by  the  old  man's  lamp,  he  viewed 
them  with  a  detestation  and  disgust,  which  could 
hardly  have  been  greater,  though  thej^  had  been 
obscene  demons,  marketing  the  corpse  itself 

"Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  the  same  woman,  when  old 


A  Christmas  Carol.  61 

Joe,  producing  a  flannel  bag  with  money  in  it,  told 
out  their  several  gains  upon  the  ground.  "  This  is 
the  end  of  it,  you  see  ?  He  frightened  everyone 
away  from  him  when  he  was  alive,  to  profit  us 
when  he  was  dead  !     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

" Spirit!"  said  Scrooge,  shuddering  from  head 
to  foot,  "1  see,  I  see.  The  case  of  this  unhappy 
man  might  be  my  own.  My  life  tends  that  way, 
now.     Merciful  Heaven,  what  is  this?  " 

He  recoiled  in  terror,  for  the  scene  had  changed, 
and  now  he  almost  touched  a  bed  :  a  bare,  uncur- 
tained bed:  on  which,  beneath  a  ragged  sheet, 
there  lay  a  something  covered  up  which,  though  it 
was  dumb,  announced  itself  in  awful  language. 

The  room  was  very  dark,  too  dark  to  be  observed 
with  any  accuracy,  though  Scrooge  glanced  rrund 
it  in  obedience  to  a  secret  impulse,  anxious  to 
know  what  kind  of  room  it  was.  A  pa'e  light 
rising  in  the  outer  air,  fell  straight  upon  the  bed : 
and  on  it,  plundered  and  bereft,  unwatched, 
unwept,  uncared  for,  was  the  body  of  this  man. 

Scrooge  glanced  toward  the  Phantom.  Its  steady 
hand  was  pointed  to  the  head.  The  cover  was  so 
carelessly  adjusted  that  the  slightest  raising  of  it, 
the  motion  of  a  finger  upon  Scrooge's  part,  would 
have  disclosed  the  face.  He  thought  of  it,  felt  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  do,  and  longed  to  do  it ;  but 
had  no  more  power  to  withdraw  the  veil  than  to 
dismiss  the  spectre  at  his  side. 

"  Spirit  !  "  he  said,  "  this  is  a  fearful  place.  In 
leaving  it,  I  shall  not  leave  its  lesson,  trust  me.  Let 
us  go  ! " 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  with  an  unmoved  finger 
to  the  head. 

"I  understand  you,"  Scrooge  returned,  "audi 
would  do  it  if  I  could.  But  I  have  not  the  power, 
Spirit.     I  have  not  the  powder." 

Again  it  seemed  to  look  upon  him. 

"  If  there  is  any  person  in  the  town,  who  feels 


62  Christmas  Tales, 

emotion  caused  by  this  man's  death,"  said  Scrooge, 
quite  agonized,  "show  that  person  to  me,  Spirit, 
I  beseech  you  !  " 

The  phantom  spread  its  dark  robe  before  him  for 
a  moment,  like  a  wing  ;  and  withdrawing  it,  re- 
vealed a  room  by  daylight,  where  a  mother  and  her 
children  were 

She  was  expecting  some  one,  and  with  anxious 
eagerness  ;  for  she  walked  up  and  down  the  room  ; 
started  at  every  sound  ;  looked  out  from  the  win^ 
dow  ;  glanced  at  the  clock;  tried,  but  in  vain,  to 
work  with  her  needle  ;  and  could  hardly  bear  the 
voices  of  her  children  in  their  play. 

At  length  the  long-expected  knock  was  heard. 
She  hurried  to  the  door  and  met  her  husband  ;  a 
man  whose  face  was  care-worn  and  depressed, 
though  he  was  young.  There  was  a  remarkable 
expression  in  it  now  ;  a  kind  of  serious  delight  of 
which  he  felt  ashamed,  and  which  he  struggled  to 
repress. 

He  sat  down  to  the  dinner  that  had  been  hoard- 
ing for  him  by  the  fire,  and  when  she  asked  him 
faintly  what  news  (which  v/as  not  until  after  a  long 
silence),  he  appeared  embarrassed  how  to  answer. 

"Is  it  good,"  she  said,  "or  bad?"— to  help  him. 

"Bad,"  he  answered. 

*' We  are  quite  ruined?" 

**  No.     There  is  hope  yet,  Caroline." 

*'!{ /le  relents,"  she  said,  amazed,  "  there  is  ! 
"Nothing  is  past  hope,  if  such  a  miracle  has  hap- 
pened." 

"He  is  past  relenting,"  said  her  husband.  "He 
is  dead." 

She  was  a  mild  and  patient  creature,  if  her  face 
spoke  truth  ;  but  she  was  thankful  in  her  soul  to 
hear  it,  and  she  said  so,  with  clasped  hands.  She 
prayed  forgiveness  the  next  moment,  and  was 
sorry  :  but  the  first  was  the  emotion  of  her  heart 

"What  the  half-drunken  woman,  whom  I  told 


A  Christmas  Carol.  63^ 

you  of  last  night,  said  to  me,  when  I  tried  to  see 
him  and  obtain  a  week's  delay  :  and  what  I  thought 
was  a  mere  excuse  to  avoid  me,  turns  out  to  have 
been  quite  true.  He  was  not  only  very  ill,  but  dy- 
ing, then." 

"To  whom  will  our  debt  be  transferred?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  before  that  time  we  shall 
be  ready  with  the  money  ;  and  even  though  we 
were  not,  it  would  be  bad  fortune  indeed  to  find  so 
merciless  a  creditor  in  his  successor.  We  may  sleep 
to-night  with  light  hearts,  Caroline  !  " 

Yes.  Soften  it  as  they  would,  their  hearts  were 
lighter.  The  children's  faces,  hushed  and  clustered 
round  to  hear  what  they  so  little  understood,  were 
brighter  ;  and  it  was  a  happier  house  for  this  man's 
death  !  The  only  emotion  that  the  Ghost  could 
show  him,  caused  by  the  event,  was  one  of  pleas- 
ure. 

'  *  Let  me  see  some  tenderness  connected  with  the 
death, ' '  said  Scrooge ;  "  or  that  dark  chamber.  Spirit, 
which  we  left  just  now,  will  be  for  ever  present  to 
me." 

The  Ghost  conducted  him  through  several  streets 
to  poor  Bob  Cratchit's  house  ;  the  dwelling  he  had 
visited  before  :  and  found  the  mother  and  ihe  chil- 
dren seated  round  the  fire. 

Quiet.  Very  quiet.  The  noisy  little  Cratchits 
were  as  still  as  statues  in  one  corner,  and  sat  look- 
ing up  at  Peter,  who  had  a  book  before  him.  The 
mother  and  her  daughters  were  sewing.  But 
surely  they  were  very  quiet ! 

"  'And  He  took  a  child,  and  set  him  in  the  midst 
of  them.'  " 

Wnere  had  Scrooge  heard  those  words  ?  He  had 
not  dreamed  them.  The  boy  must  have  read  them 
out,  as  he  and  the  Spirit  crossed  the  threshold.  Why 
did  he  not  go  on  ? 

The  mother  laid  her  work  upon  the  table,  and 
put  her  hand  up  to  her  face. 


64  Christmas  Tales. 

"The color  hurts  my  eyes,"  she  said. 

The  color  ?    Ah,  poor  Tiny  Tim  ! 

"They're  better  now  again,"  said  Cratchit's 
wife.  '*  It  makes  them  weak  by  candle-light ;  and 
I  wouldn't  show  weak  eyes  to  your  father  when  he 
comes  home,  for  the  world.  It  must  be  near  his 
time." 

"Past  it  rather,"  Peter  answered,  shutting  up 
his  book.  "But  I  think  he  has  walked  a  little 
slower  than  he  used,  these  few  last  evenings, 
mother." 

They  were  very  quiet  again.  At  last  she  said, 
-and  in  a  steady,  cheerful  voice,  that  only  faltered 
once : 

"  I  have  known  him  walk  with — I  have  known 
him  walk  with  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder,  very 
fast  indeed." 

"And  so  have  I,"  cried  Peter.      "  Often." 

"And  so  have  I,"  exclaimed  another.  So  had 
all. 

"  But  he  was  very  light  to  carry,"  she  resumed, 
intent  upon  her  work,  "and  his  father  loved  him  so, 
that  it  was  no  trouble:  no  trouble.  And  there  is 
your  father  at  the  door!  " 

She  hurried  out  to  meet  him  ;  and  little  Bob  in 
liis  comforter — he  had  need  of  it,  poor  fellow — 
came  in.  His  tea  was  ready  for  him,  and  they  all 
tried  who  should  help  him  to  it  most.  Then  the 
two  young  Cratchits  got  upon  his  knees  and  laid, 
each  child,  a  little  cheek  against  his  face,  as  if 
they  said,  "Don't  mind  it,  father.  Don't  be 
grieved  !  " 

Bob  was  very  cheerful  with  them,  and  spoke 
pleasantly  to  all  the  family.  He  looked  at  the 
work  upon  the  table,  and  praised  the  industry  and 
speed  of  Mrs.  Cratchit  and  the  girls.  They  would 
be  done  long  before  Sunday,  he  said. 

"vSunday!  You  went  to-day,  then,  Robert?" 
said  his  wife. 


A  Christmas  Carol.  65 

"Yes,  my  dear,''  returned  Bob.  "I  wish  yon 
could  have  gone.  It  would  have  done  you  good 
to  see  how  green  a  place  it  is.  But  you'll  see  it 
often.  I  promised  him  that  I  would  walk  there 
on  a  Sunday.  Mv  little,  hUle  child  !  "  cried  Bob. 
"My  little  child  f"' 

He  broke  down  all  at  once.  He  couldn't  help 
it.  If  he  could  hav^e  helped  it,  he  and  his  child 
would  have  been  farther  apart  perhaps  than  they 
were. 

"Spectre,"  said  Scrooge,  "something  informs 
me  that  our  parting  moment  is  at  hand.  I  know  it, 
but  I  know  not  how.  Tell  me  what  man  that  was 
whom  we  saw  lying  dead  ?  " 

The  Ghost  of' Christmas  Yet  to  Come  conveyed 
him  as  before  into  the  resorts  of  business  men, 
but  showed  him  not  himself.  Indeed,  the  Spirit 
did  not  stay  for  anything,  but  went  straight  on,  as 
to  the  end  just  now  desired,  until  besought  by 
Scrooge  to  tarry  for  a  moment. 

"  This  court,"  said  Scrooge,  "  through  which  we 
hurry  now,  is  where  my  place  of  occupation  is, 
and  has  been  for  a  length  of  time.  I  see  the  house. 
Let  me  behold  what  I  shall  be.  in  days  to  come." 

The  Spirit  stopped ;  the  hand  was  pointed  else- 
where. 

"The  house  is  yonder  "  Scrooge  exclaimed. 
"  Why  do  you  point  away  ?  ' ' 

The  inexorable  finger  underwent  no  change. 

Scrooge  hastened  to  the  window  of  his  office, 
and  looked  in.  It  was  an  office  still,  but  not  his. 
The  furniture  was  not  the  same,  and  the  figure  in 
the  chair  was  not  himself.  The  Phantom  pointed 
as  before. 

He  joined  it  once  again,  and  wondering  why  and 
whither  he  had  gone,  accompanied  it  untd  they 
reached  an  iron  gate.  He  paused  to  look  round 
belore  entering. 

A  churchyard.     Here,  then,  the  wretched  man 


66  Christmas  Tales. 

whose  name  he  had  now  to  learn,  lay  underneath 
the  ground.  It  was  a  worthy  place.  Walled  in  by 
houses ;  overrun  by  grass  and  weeds,  the  growth 
of  vegetation's  death,  not  life  ;  choked  up  with  too 
much  burying;  fat  with  repleted  appetite.  A 
worthy  place ! 

The  Spirit  stood  among  the  graves,  and  pointed 
down  to  one.  He  advanced  toward  it  trembling. 
The  Phantom  was  exactly  as  it  had  been,  but  he 
dreaded  that  he  saw  new  meaning  in  its  solemn 
shape. 

"Before  I  draw  nearer  to  that  stone  to  which 
you  point,"  said  Scrooge,  "answer  me  one  ques- 
tion. Are  these  the  shadows  of  the  things  that 
will  be,  or  are  they  shadows  of  the  things  that 
may  be,  only?" 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  downward  to  the  grave 
by  which  it  stood. 

"  Men's  courses  will  foreshadow  certain  ends,  to 
which,  if  persevered  in,  they  must  lead,"  said 
Scrooge.  "  But  if  the  course>i  be  departed  from, 
the  ends  will  change.  Say  it  is  thus  with  what  you 
show  me !  " 

The  Spirit  was  immovable  as  ever. 

Scrooge  crept  toward  it,  trembling  as  he  went ; 
and  following  the  finger,  read  upon  the  stone  of 
the  neglected  grave  his  own  name,  Ebenezer 
Scrooge. 

"Am  /  that  man  who  lay  upon  the  bed?  "  he 
cried,  upon  his  knees. 

The  finger  pointed  from  the  grave  to  him,  and 
back  again. 

"  No,  Spirit !     Oh,  no,  no  !  " 

The  finger  still  was  there. 

Holding  up  his  hands  in  a  last  prayer  to  have 
his  fate  reversed,  he  saw  an  alteration  in  the  Phan- 
tom's hood  and  dress.  It  shrunk,  collapsed,  and 
dwindled  down  into  a  bedpost. 


A  Christmas  Carol.  67 

Stave  Fivk. 
the  end  of  it. 

Yes!  and  the  bedpost  was  his  own.  The  bed 
was  his  own,  and  the  room  was  his  own.  Best  and 
happiest  of  all,  the  time  before  him  was  his  own, 
to  make  amends  in  ! 

He  was  so  fluttered  and  so  glowing  with  his  good 
intentions,  that  his  brokea  voice  would  scarcely 
answer  to  his  call.  He  had  been  sobbing  violently 
in  his  conflict  with  the  Spirit,  and  his  face  was 
wet  with  tears. 

"They  are  not  torn  down,"  cried  Scrooge,  fold- 
ing one  of  his  bed  curtains  in  his  arms,  "they  are 
not  torn  down,  rings  and  all.  They  are  here — I 
am  here — the  shadows  of  the  things  that  would 
have  been,  may  be  dispelled.  They  will  be.  I 
know  they  will !  " 

He  had  frisked  into  the  sitting-room,  and  was 
now  standing  there  :  perfectly  winded. 

"There's  the  saucepan  that  the  gruel  was  in  !  " 
cried  Scrooge,  starting  off  again,  and  going  round 
the  fire-place.  "There's  the  door  by  which  the 
Ghost  of  Jacob  Marley  entered  !  There's  the  cor- 
ner where  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present  sat ! 
There's  the  window  where  I  saw  the  wandering 
Spirits  !  It's  all  right,  it's  all  true,  it  all  happened. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

Really,  for  a  man  who  had  been  out  of  practice 
for  so  many  years,  it  was  a  splendid  laugh,  a  most 
illustrious  laugh.  The  father  of  a  long,  long  line 
of  brilliant  laughs  ! 

"I  don't  know  what  day  of  the  month  it  is," 
said  Scrooge.  ' '  I  don't  know  how  long  I  have  been 
among  the  Spirits.  I  don't  know  anything.  I'm 
quite  a  baby.  Never  mind.  I  don't  care.  I'd 
rather  be  a  baby.     Hallo!     Whoop!    Hallo  here  !  " 

He  was  checked  in  his  transports  by  the  churches 


68  Christmas  Tales. 

ringing  out  the  lustiest  peals  he  had  ever  heard. 
Clash,  clash,  hammer ;  ding,  dong,  bell.  Bell, 
dong,  ding ;  hammer,  clang,  clash  !  Oh,  glorious, 
glorious  ! 

Running  to  the  window,  he  opened  it  and  put 
out  his  head. 

"What's  to-day?"  cried  Scrooge,  calling  down- 
ward to  a  boy  in  Sunday  clothes,  who  perhaps 
had  loitered  in  to  look  about  him. 

"  Eh  ?  "  returned  the  boy,  with  all  his  might  of 
wonder. 

*'  What's  to-day,  my  fine  fellow?  "  paid  Scrooge. 

"To-day!"  replied  the  boy.  "Why,  Christ- 
mas Day." 

"  It's  Christmas  Day  !  "  said  Scrooge  to  himself. 
"  I  haven't  missed  it.  The  Spirits  have  done  it  all 
in  one  night.     Hallo,  my  fine  fellow  !  " 

"Hallo  !  "  returned  the  boy. 

"  Do  you  know  the  Poulterer's,  in  the  next  street 
but  one,  at  the  corner?  "  Scrooge  inquired. 

"  I  should  hope  I  did,"  replied  the  lad. 

"An  intelligent  boy  !  "  said  Scrooge.  "A  remark- 
able boy  !  Do  you  know  whether  they've  sold  the 
prize  turkey  that  was  hanging  up  there  ?  " 

"It's  hanging  there  now,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Is  it?  "said  Scrooge.     "  Go  and  buy  it. " 

"  Walk-ER  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"No,  no,"  said  Scrooge,  "  I  am  in  earnest.  Go 
and  buy  it,  and  tell  'era  to  bring  it  here,  that  I 
may  give  them  the  directions  where  to  take  it. 
Come  back  with  the  man,  and  I'll  give  you  a 
shilling." 

The  boy  was  off  like  a  shot. 

"I'll  send  it  to  Bob  Cratchit's,"  whispered 
Scrooge,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  splitting  with  a 
laugh.  "He  shan't  know  who  sends  it.  It's 
twice  the  size  of  Tiny  Tim." 

The  hand  in  which  he  wrote  the  address  was  not 
a  steady  one ;  but  write  it  he  did,  somehow,  and 


A  Christmas  Carol.  69 

went  down-stairs  to  open  the  street  door,  ready  for 
the  coming  of  the  poulterer's  man. 

The  chuckle  with  which  he  paid  for  the  Turkey, 
and  the  chuckle  with  which  he  recompensed  the 
boy,  were  only  to  be  exceeded  by  the  chuckle  with 
which  he  sat  down  breathless  in  his  chair  again, 
and  chuckled  till  he  cried. 

He  dressed  himself  "all  in  his  best,"  and  got 
out  into  the  streets.  The  people  were  by  this  time 
pouring  forth,  as  he  had  seen  them  with  the  Ghost 
of  Christmas  Present ;  and  walking  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  Scrooge  regarded  every  one  with  a 
delighted  smile.  He  looked  so  irresistibly  pleas- 
ant, in  a  word,  that  three  or  four  good-humored 
fellows  said  "Good  morning,  sir!  A  Merry  Christ- 
mas to  you  !  "  And  Scrooge  said  often  afterward, 
that  of  all  the  blithe  sounds  he  ever  heard,  those 
were  the  blithest  in  his  ears. 

He  had  not  gone  far,  when  coming  on  toward 
him  he  beheld  the  portly  gentleman,  who  had 
walked  into  his  counting-house  the  day  before,  and 
said  "Scrooge  and  Marley's,  I  believe?"  It  sent 
a  pang  across  his  heart  to  think  how  this  old  gen- 
tleman would  look  upon  him  when  they  met ;  but 
he  knew  what  path  lay  straight  before  him,  and 
he  took  it. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Scrooge,  quickening  his 
pace,  and  taking  the  old  gentleman  by  both  his 
hands,  "how  do  you  do?  I  hope  you  succeeded 
yesterday.  It  was  very  kind  of  you.  A  Merry 
Christmas  to  you,  sir  !  " 

"  Mr.  Scrooge?" 

"Yes,"  said  Scrooge.  "  That  is  my  name,  and 
I  fear  it  may  not  be  pleasant  to  you.  Allow  me  to 
ask  your  pardon.  And  will  you  have  the  good- 
ness"— here  Scrooge  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Lord  bless  me!"  cried  the  gentleman,  as  if 
his  breath  were  taken  away.  "My  dear  Mr. 
Scrooge,  are  you  serious  ?  " 


70  Christmas  Tales. 

* '  If  you  please,  "said  Scrooge.  ' '  Not  a  farthing 
less.  A  great  many  back  payments  are  included 
in  it,  I  assure  you.     Will  you  do  me  that  favor?  " 

''My  dear  sir,"  said  the  other,  shaking  hands 
with  him,  "I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  such 
munifi — " 

"  Don't  say  anything,  please,"  retorted  Scrooge. 
"  Come  and  see  me.    Will  you  come  and  see  me  ? '' 

•'I  will  !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman.  And  it  was 
clear  he  meant  to  do  it. 

"  Thank 'ee,"  said  Scrooge.  "I  am  much 
obliged  to  you.  I  thank  you  fifty  times.  Bless 
you  !  " 

He  went  to  church,  and  walked  about  the  streets 
and  watched  the  people  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and 
patted  the  children  on  the  head,  and  looked  down 
into  the  kitchens  of  houses,  and  up  to  the  win- 
dows ;  and  found  everything  could  yield  him 
pleasure.  He  had  never  dreamed  that  any  walk- 
that  any  thing — could  give  him  so  much  happiness. 
In  the  afternoon,  he  turned  his  steps  toward  his 
nephew's  house. 

He  passed  the  door  a  dozen  times,  before  he  had 
the  courage  to  go  up  and  knock.  But  he  made  a 
dash,  and  did  it. 

"Is  your  master  at  home,  mv  dear?"  said 
Scrooge  to  the  girl.     Nice  girl  !     Very. 

"Yes,  sir." 

**  Where  is  he  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

'*  He's  in  the  dining-room,  sir,  along  with  mis- 
tress.    I'll  show  you  up-stairs,  if  you  please." 

"Thank'ee.  He  knows  me,"  said  Scrooge,  with 
his  hand  already  on  the  dining-room  lock.  "I'll 
go  in  here,  my  dear." 

He  turned  it  gently,  and  sidled  his  face  in,  round 
the  door.  They  were  looking  at  the  table  (which 
was  spread  out  iu  great  array)  ;  for  these  young 
housekeepers  are  always  nervous  on  such  points, 
and  like  to  see  that  everything  is  right. 


A  Christmas  Carol.  71 

'*  Fred  !  "  said  Scrooge. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul!"  cried  Fred,  "who's 
that?" 

"  It's  I.  Your  Uncle  Scrooge.  I  have  come  to 
dinner.     Will  you  let  me  in,  Fred?  " 

Let  him  in  !  It  is  a  mercy  he  didn't  shake  his 
arm  off.  He  was  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Noth- 
ing could  be  heartier. 

But  he  was  early  at  the  office  next  morning.  Oh, 
he  was  early  there.  If  he  could  only  be  there 
first,  and  catch  Bob  Cratchit  coming  late ! 
That  was  the  thing  he  had  set  his  heart  upon. 

And  be  did  it;  yes,  he  did  !  The  clock  struck 
nine.  No  Bob.  A  quarter  past.  No  Bob.  He  was 
full  eighteen  minutes  and  a  half  behind  his  time. 
Scrooge  sat  with  his  door  wide  open,  that  he  m.ight 
see  him  come  into  the  tank. 

His  hat  was  off,  before  he  opened  the  door ;  his 
comforter  too.  He  was  on  his  stool  in  a  jiffy; 
driving  away  with  his  pen,  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
overtake  nine  o'clock. 

'•Hallo!"  growled  Scrooge,  in  his  accustomed 
voice  as  near  as  he  could  feign  it.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  coming  here  at  this  time  of  day  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  said  Bob.  "I  am  behind 
my  time." 

"You  are  !  "  repeated  Scrooge.  "  Yes.  I  think 
you  are.     Step  this  way,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"It's  only  once  a  year,  sir,"  pleaded  Bob, 
appearing  from  the  tank.  "It  shall  not  be  re- 
peated. I  was  making  rather  merry  yesterday, 
sir." 

"Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  friend,"  said 
Scrooge.  "  I  am  not  going  to  stand  this  sort  of 
thing  any  longer.  And  therefore  I  am  about  to 
raise  your  salary  !  " 

"A  Merry  Christmas,  Bob  !  "  said  Scrooge,  with 
an  earnestness  that  could  not  be  mistaken,  as  he 
clapped  him  on  the  back.     "A  Merrier  Christmas, 


72  Christmas  Tales. 

Bob,  my  good  fellow,  than  I  have  given  you  for 
many  a  year  !  I'll  raise  your  salary,  and  endeavor 
to  assist  your  struggling  family,  aud  we  will  dis- 
cuss your  affairs  this  very  afternoon.  Make  up 
the  fires,  and  buy  another  coal  scuttle  before  you 
dot  another  i,  Bob  Cralchit  !  " 

Scrooge  was  l)etter  than  his  word.  He  did  it  all, 
and  infinitely  more;  and  to  Tiny  Tim,  who  did 
NOT  die,  he  was  a  second  father.  He  became  as 
good  a  friend,  as  good  a  master,  and  as  good  a 
man,  as  the  good  c»ld  city  knew,  or  any  other  good 
old  city,  town,  or  borough,  in  the  good  old  world. 
Some  people  laughed  to  see  the  alteration  in  him, 
but  he  let  them  laugh,  and  little  heeded  them  ;  for 
he  was  wi-e  enough  to  know  that  nothing  ever 
happened  on  this  globe,  for  good,  at  which  some 
people  did  not  h^ve  their  fill  of  laughter  in  the 
outset;  and  knowing  that  such  as  these  would  be 
blind  anyway,  he  thought  it  quite  as  well  that  they 
should  wrinkle  up  their  eyes  in  grius,  as  have  the 
malady  in  less  attractive  forms.  His  own  heart 
laughed  :  and  that  was  quite  enough  for  him. 

He  had  no  further  intercourse  with  Spirits,  but 
lived  upon  the  Total  Abstinence  Principle,  ever 
afterward  ;  and  it  was  always  said  of  him,  that  he 
knew  how  to  keep  Christma-;  well,  if  any  man  alive 
possessed  the  knowledge.  May  that  be  truly  said 
of  us,  and  a'l  of  us!  And  so,  as  Tiny  Tim  ob- 
served, God  bless  Us,  Every  One  ! 


The  Christmas  Babe.  73 

THE  CHRISTMAS  BABE). 

BY   MARGARET  E.    SAXGSTER. 

We  love  to  think  of  Bethlehem, 

That  little  mountain  town, 
To  which,  on  earth's  first  Christmas  Day, 

Our  blessed  Lord  came  down. 
A  lowly  manger  for  His  bed, 

The  cattle  near  in  stall, 
There,  cradled  close  in  Mary's  arms, 

He  slept,  the  Lord  of  all. 

If  we  had  been  in  Bethlehem, 

We  too  had  hasted  fain 
To  see  the  Babe  whose  little  face 

Knew  neither  care  nor  pain. 
Like  any  little  child  of  ours, 

He  came  uuto  His  own, 
Through  Cross  and  shame  before  Him  stretched,-^ 

His  pathway  to  His  Throne. 

If  we  had  dwelt  in  Bethlehem, 

We  would  have  followed  fast. 
And  where  the  Star  had  led  our  feet 

Have  knelt  ere  dawn  was  past. 
Our  gifts,  our  songs,  our  prayers  had  been 

An  offering,  as  He  lay, 
The  blessed  Babe  of  Bethlehem, 

In  Mary's  arms  that  day. 

Now  breaks  the  latest  Christmas  Morn  ! 

Again  the  angels  sing. 
And  far  and  near  the  children  throng 

Their  happy  hymns  to  bring. 
All  heaven  is  stirred  !     All  earth  is  glad  ! 

For  down  the  shining  way. 
The  Lord  who  came  to  Bethlehem, 

Comes  yet,  on  Christmas  Day. 


Christmas  Tales, 


A   WESTERN  CHRISTMAS   IN  TH^ 
OLD   DAYS. 

BY   MRS.    W.    H.    CORNING. 

Christmas  week  there  was  no  sc"hool,  but  such 
a  succession  of  dining  days,  and  visiting  days,  and 
day  parties,  and  night  parties,  that  Fanny,  who 
looked  forward  to  the  week  as  a  season  of  rest, 
thought  that  the  regular  routine  of  school  duties 
would  be  less  fatiguing. 

Christmas  at  La  Belle  Prairie  was  the  one  jubilee 
of  the  year,  something  to  be  talked  about  for  six 
months  beforehand,  and  to  be  remembered  as  long 
after.  It  was  a  time  of  feasting  and  recreation  for 
lK>th.  master  and  servant.  Days  before,  preparations 
commenced  in  the  kitchen.  Various  smells  issued 
from  thence — savory  smells  of  boiled,  baked,  and 
roasted  meats  ;  and  sweet  delicious  smells  of 
warm  pastry  and  steaming  cakes.  Aunt  Tibby 
was  rolling  pie-crust  or  stirring  cake  all  day  long, 
and  the  chopping  of  sausage-meat,  the  pounding 
of  spices,  and  the  beating  of  eggs  were  constantly 
iieard.  Everything  was  carried  on  with  the  great- 
est secrecy.  The  children  were  all  kept  out  of  the 
kitchen,  and  when  *' somefin*  good  "  was  to  be 
transferred  therefrom  to  Miss  Car'line's  store-room. 
Aunt  Tibby  came  sailing  in,  holding  it  high  above 
the  reach  of  the  curious  little  heads. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Cal.  ''There's  six  pound- 
cakes all  in  a  row  on  the  store-room  shelf.  I  see 
'em  when  ma  opened  the  door  ;  and  Marthy  says 
one  of  'em  got  currants  in  it,  and  there's  a  litde 
shoat  thar  roasted  M'hole.  O  !  how  I  wish  Christ- 
mas was  come." 


A  Western  Christmas  in  the  Old  Days.     75 

Coming  suddenly  upon  Maud  one  day,  Fanny 
found  her  -with  her  apron  half  full  of  bran,  while 
her  fingers  were  busily  at  w^ork  upon  a  few  pieces 
of  faded  silk.  Maud  tried  to  hide  them  at  first, 
but  finding  by  Fanny's  question  of  "What  is  it, 
Maud?"  that  it  was  too  late,  she  had  looked  up 
with  a  tired,  flushed  face  and  said  : 

"Miss  Fanny,  don't  you  tell  now!  will  you? 
I'm  makin'  a  pin-cushion  for  Aunt  Phoebe,  but  it 
won't  come  square,  all  I  can  do.     It  acts  awfully." 

"Let  me  see  what  the  trouble  is,"  said  Fanny, 
and  sitting  down,  she  examined  the  poor  cushion  ; 
which,  indeed,  under  Maud's  hands,  was  not  soon 
likely  to  come  into  shape. 

"You  see,"  said  Maud,  "I  want  to  give  aunty 
a  Christmas  gift,  and  I  thought  a  cushion  would  be 
so  nice,  'cause  her  old  one  that  she  wears  pinned 
to  her  waist,  you  know,  has  burst  a  great  hole,  and 
the  bran  keeps  tumbling  out.  I'm  going  to  make 
her  a  right  nice  one,  only  I  wish  'twas  brighter, 
'cause  aunty  likes  red,  and  yellow,  and  all  them, 
so  bad." 

Fanny  searched  her  piece  bag  and  brought  forth 
bits  of  gay  ribbon,  the  sight  of  which  threw 
Maud  into  ecstasies  of  delight,  then  gi'V'ing  up  the 
morning  to  the  job,  she  cut  and  planned,  and 
fitted  and  basted  together,  getting  all  in  order,  so 
that  Maud  could  do  the  sewing  herself. 

"Aunty  wouldn't  think  half  so  much  of  it  if  I 
didn't,"  said  the  child. 

Well  and  faithfully  Maud  performed  her  labor  of 
love,  gi\dng  up  her  much-prized  runs  on  the  prairie, 
and  resisting  all  the  children's  entreaties  to  play 
with  them,  till  the  Christmas  gift  was  finished.  It 
was  no  small  task,  for  Maud  most  heartily  hated  to 
sew,  and  her  fingers  were  anything  but  nimble  in 
the  operation.  "  I  always  did  despise  to  sew.  Miss 
Fanny,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  going  to  make  this 
cushion  for  auntv  anvhow." 


76  Christmas  Tales. 

It  was  finished  at  last,  and,  as  Maud  expressed 
it,  "was  just  as  beautiful  as  it  could  be."  There 
never  was  a  prouder,  happier  child.  She  did  not 
thank  Fanny  iu  words  for  her  assistance,  but  that 
night  she  came  softly  behind  her,  and  putting  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  gave  her  an  earnest  kiss,  a 
proceeding  which  called  forth  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  from  Mrs.  Catlett,  for  Maud  was  very 
chary  of  her  caresses. 

Christmas  morning  came,  and  long  before  day- 
light, every  child  upon  the  place,  both  black  and 
white,  was  up  ready  to  "march  in  Christmas." 
There  had  been  mysterious  preparations  the  night 
before,  such  as  the  hiding  of  tin  pans  and  glass 
bottles  under  the  bed,  and  the  faint  tooting  of  an 
old  horn,  heard  down  at  the  quarters,  as  though 
some  one  was  rehearsing  a  part.  Fanny  was  also 
astonished  by  an  application  from  little  "darky 
Tom  "  for  permission  to  use  her  school-bell,  the 
said  cow-tinkler  not  being  remarkable  for  sweet- 
ness of  sound. 

"  O,  yes,  Tom,  you  may  take  it ;  but  what  can 
you  want  of  it?  " 

"  Couldn't  tell  no  ways,  Miss  Fanny,"  said  Tom, 
with  a  grin.  "Mebbe  Miss  Fanny  know  in  de 
mornin'." 

Morning  did  indeed  bring  an  explanation  of  the 
mystery.  Assembling  in  the  yard,  the  children 
marshaled  themselves  [into  marching  order ;  Maud, 
of  course,  being  captain,  and  taking  the  lead,  bear- 
ing an  old  tin  horn,  while  little  black  Tom 
brought  up  the  rear  with  Fanny's  unfortunate  cow- 
bell. 

In  this  order  they  commenced  "marching  in 
Christmas  "  to  the  music  of  the  horn,  the  beating  of 
tin  pans,  the  rattling  of  bits  of  iron  and  pieces  of 
wood,  the  jingling  of  bells,  and  the  clapping  of 
hands.  Into  the  house,  and  up-stairs  to  the  very 
doors  of  the  sleeping-rooms,  they  all  marched  with 


A  Western  Christmas  in  the  Old  Days.     77 

their  horrid  din.  It  was  received  with  tolerable 
good-humor  by  all  but  Nanuy,  who,  deprived  of 
her  morning  nap  by  the  tumult,  raved  at  the  juve- 
nile disturbers  of  the  peace,  and  finally  threw  her 
shoes  at  them  as  they  stood  on  the  stairway. 
These  were  directly  seized  upon  as  trophies,  and 
carried  off  in  triumph  to  the  quarters,  where  the 
young  performers  went  through  with  the  same 
operations. 

"  Christmas  gift !  Christmas  gift  !  "  was  the  first 
salutation  from  the  servants  this  morning,  and  it 
was  well  worth  Vv'hile  to  give  them  some  trifling 
present,  were  it  only  to  hear  their  extravagant  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude  and  delight.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  forget  for  a  moment  that  it  was  Christmas. 
One  could  see  it  in  the  faces  of  the  servants,  re- 
leased for  a  whole  week  from  their  daily  tasks,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  dances,  and  parties^ 
and  visits  to  friends  and  kindred  on  distant  planta- 
tions. The  children,  too,  with  their  boisterous 
merriment  and  constant  talk  about  the  holidays, 
seemed  determined  to  bear  it  in  mind,  and  the 
great  dinner — the  one  dinner  of  the  year — in  the 
preparation  of  which  Aunt  Tibby  had  exercised  all 
her  skill ;  this,  in  itself,  seemed  to  proclaim  that  it 
was  Christmas. 

"Oh,  Miss  Fanny,"  said  little  Joy,  "don't  you. 
wish  Christmas  lasted  the  whole  year  round?  " 

The  short  December  day  was  fast  drawing  to  a 
close,  as  a  party  of  four  rode  leisurely  along  the 
road  crossing  La  Belle  Prairie.  The  ladies,  though 
scarcely  recognizable  in  their  close  hoods,  long 
blue  cotton  riding  skirts,  and  thick  gloves,  were 
none  other  than  Miss  Nancy  Catlett  and  our  friend 
Fanny,  while  their  attendants  were  Mr.  Chester, 
the  town  gentleman,  and  Massa  Dave  Catlett,  who 
had  come  over  from  his  new  home  in  Kansas,  on 
purpose  to  enjoy  the  Christmas  festivities  on  the 
prairie.     One  of   those   night    parties,    of   which 


78  Christmas  Tales, 

Nanny  had  talked  so  much,  was  to  come  off  at  Col. 
Turner's,  and  this  was  the  place  of  their  destina- 
tion. In  accordance  with  the  customs  of  society  in 
these  parts,  they  were  to  remain  until  the  next 
day,  and,  accordingly,  black  Viny  rode  a  little  in 
the  rear,  mounted  upon  old  "Poke  Neck,"  and 
bearing  sundry  carpet-bags  and  valises,  containing 
the  ladies'  party- dresses. 

Just  at  dusk,  our  party  reached  their  journey's 
end,  and  dismounting  one  by  one  from  the  horse- 
block in  front  of  the  house,  they  walked  up  the 
road,  and  were  met  in  the  porch  by  Miss  Bell 
Turner,  Nanny's  particular  friend.  This  young 
lady,  with  long  curls  and  a  very  slender  waist,  per- 
formed the  duties  of  hostess  in  a  free  and  easy 
manner,  ushering  the  gentlemen  into  the  parlor, 
where  a  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  while  the 
ladies,  with  their  attendants,  were  conducted  up- 
stairs to  the  dressing-room. 

Here  a  dozen  or  more  were  engaged  in  the  mys- 
teries of  the  toilet,  braiding,  twisting,  and  curling, 
while  as  many  servants  were  flying  about,  stum- 
bling over  each  other,  and  creating  the  most  dire 
confusion  in  their  efforts  to  supply  the  wants  of 
their  respective  mistresses.  The  beds  and  chairs 
were  covered  with  dresses,  capes,  ribbons,  curling- 
irons,  flowers,  combs,  and  brushes,  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  the  toilet,  while  the  ladies  them- 
selves kept  up  a  continual  stream  of  conversation 
with  each  other  and  their  attendants. 

Into  this  scene  Nanny  entered  with  great  spirit. 
Shaking  hands  all  round,  and  introducing  Fanny, 
she  hastily  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and 
bidding  Viny  unpack  the  things,  she  set  about 
dressing  in  good  earnest. 

"How  nice  to  get  here  so  early,"  she  said. 
**Now  we  can  have  a  chance  at  the  glass,  and 
plenty  of  room  to  move  about  in." 

Fanny  wondered  what  she  called  plenty  of  room. 


A  Western  Christmas  in  the  Old  Days.     79 

but  had  yet  to  learn  the  signification  of  the  term 
•when  applied  to  the  dressing-room  of  a  western 
party.  Thicker  and  faster  came  the  arrivals,  and 
it  being  necessary  that  each  lady  should  undergo  a 
thorough  transformation  in  dress,  before  making 
her  appearance  down-stairs,  the  labor  and  confu- 
sion necessary  to  bring  this  abaut  can  be  imagined. 
Such  hurryings  to  and  fro,  such  knockings  down 
and  pickings  up,  such  scolding  and  laughing,  in 
short  such  a  Babel  of  sounds  as  filled  the  room  for 
an  hour  or  two,  Fanny  had  never  heard  before. 
Completing  her  own  toilet  as  soon  as  possible,  she 
seated  herself  upon  one  of  the  beds,  and  watched 
the  proceedings  with  great  interest. 

"You  Suke,  briug  me  some  more  pins,  directly.'* 
"  O  please,  Miss  Ellen,  mind  my  wreath  !  "  "Jule, 
how  much  longer  are  you  goin'  to  keep  the  wash- 
bowl ?  "  "Dar  now.  Miss  Eveline  done  get  her 
coat  all  wet."  "  Did  you  know  Tom  Walton  was 
here?  I  see  him  in  the  pcssage."  **  Miss  Belle, 
that's  f7iy  starch-bag."  "  There,  now  !  don't  them 
slippers  fit  beautiful?"  "Why  don't  that  girl 
come  back?"  *'0,  Liza,  just  fasten  up  my  dress, 
that's  a  dear  girl !  "  "  Come,  girls,  do  hurry,  we 
shan't  be  dressed  to-night." 

How  it  was  all  brought  about,  Fanny  could  not 
tell,  but  at  last  the  ladies  were  dressed,  the  last 
sash  pinned,  and  the  last  curl  adjusted.  Dresses 
of  thin  material,  cut  low  in  the  neck,  with  short 
sleeves,  seemed  to  be  the  order  of  the  night,  which 
with  wreaths,  and  bunches  of  artificial  flowers  in 
the  hair,  gave  the  ladies  a  handsome  appearance. 
With  Miss  Belle  at  the  head,  they  all  descended  to 
the  parlor,  and  found  the  gentlemen  strolling 
about,  employing  themselves  as  they  could,  till  the 
night's  amusements  commenced ;  and,  indeed, 
both  ladies  and  gentlemen  manifested  such  eager- 
ness to  adjourn  to  the  play-room,  that  the  signal 
was  soon  given,  and  they  proceeded  forthwith  to  a 


80  Chi-istmas  Tales. 

looj  building  in  the  yard,  formerly  used  as  a  school- 
room. 

Games  soon  commenced,  and  were  carried  ou 
with  great  vigor,  the  young  people  making  up  in 
activity  what  was  lacking  in  gracefulness  of  mo- 
tion. Game  after  game  was  made  out,  the  ladies 
vying  with  each  other  to  see  who  should  laugh 
the  most,  while  those  who  were  left  chatted  gayly 
together  in  groups,  or  tried  their  powers  of  fasci- 
nation upon  some  loug-limbed  specimen  of  hu- 
manity. 

"What  calls  the  gentlemen  up-stairs  so  fre- 
quently? "  inquired  Fanny,  innocently,  as  groups 
of  two  and  three  disappeared  up  the  steps  leading 
to  the  room  above. 

"You  are  not  aware,  then,  what  a  formidable 
rival  the  ladies  have  up  in  the  loft?"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  gravely,  though  there  was  a  comical  ex- 
pression about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"No,  indeed." 

"Well,  I  only  hope  you  may  not  witness  the 
overpowering  influence  sometimes  exerted  by  this 
same  rival,"  said  Mr.  Chester;  "but  honestly, 
Miss  Hunter,  there  is  serious  danger  that  some  of 
these  light-footed  young  gentlemen  may,  ere  long, 
be  obliged  to  relinquish  their  places  in  our  party, 
all  through  the  attractions  presented  to  them  up 
yonder." 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  you  mean." 

"In  plain  words,  then,  they  are  talking  about 
horses  up  there ;  men  are  crazy  over  horses  you 
know." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mr.  Chester?  " 

"  Certainly  I  am.  It  would  not  answer,  I  sup- 
pose, for  ladies  to  intrude  upon  their  modest  re- 
tirement, or  1  could  convince  you  in  a  moment." 

"How  can  you  joke  about  it,  Mr.  Chester?  I 
think  it  is  perfectly  scandalous." 

"Well,  it  is  bad  enough,"  said  her  companion. 


A  Western  Christinas  in  the  Old  Days.     81 

more  gravely.  "  One  living  at  the  west  becomes 
accustomed  to  such  things." 

"/never  will,"  said  Fanny.  "  If  I  had  known 
these  Christmas  parties  countenanced  such  impo- 
liteness, I  would  have  stayed  at  home." 

*'A  set  supper,"  Nanny  had  several  times  ex- 
pressed a  hope  that  Mrs.  Turner  would  provide, 
and  she  was  not  disappointed.  The  long  table 
was  bountifully  spread  with  the  substantials  of  this 
life,  and  though  not  in  the  style  of  an  entertain- 
ment in  Fifth  Avenue,  it  was  admirably  suited  to 
the  guests  who  partook  of  it.  A  roasted  "shoat" 
graced  each  end  of  the  board,  a  side  of  bacon  the 
centre,  while  salted  beef,  cut  in  thin  slices,  with 
pickles  and  cheese,  constituted  the  side-dishes. 
Hot  coffee,  corn  bread  and  biscuit  were  passed  to 
each  guest,  and  a  piece  of  pound-cake  and  a  little 
preserved  fruit  for  dessert. 

There  was  plenty  of  laughter  and  hearty  joking 
at  the  table,  and  the  flushed  faces  and  increased 
volubility  of  the  gentlemen  gave  too  certain  evi- 
dence of  the  truth  of  Mr.  Chester's  assertions. 

"The  langest  day  maun  hae  an  end,"  says  the 
old  Scotch  proverb,  and  it  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
that  Fanny  at  last  saw  Uncle  Jake  lay  down  the 
tortured  fiddle,  and  the  guests  with  lingering  steps 
and  wishful  eyes  retire  to  seek  the  few  hours  of 
repose  that  were  left  of  the  night.  *'  Confusion 
"worse  confounded  "  reigned  for  a  time  in  the  apart- 
ment appropriated  to  the  ladies'  use,  and  the  numer- 
ous couches  spread  upon  the  floor  increased  the 
diflBculty  of  navigation.  Atlast,  when  quiet  seemed 
restored,  and  Fanny  was  sinking  into  a  peaceful 
sleep,  she  was  aroused  by  her  neighbors  in  an  ad- 
joining bed,  three  young  ladies  who  declared  that 
they  were  "all  but  starved,  and  must  have  some- 
thing to  eat  before  they  could  go  to  sleep."  One 
of  the  black  women  was  despatched  to  the  store- 
room for  some  slices  of  cold  bacon,  and  sitting  up 


82  Christmas  Tales. 

in  bed,  with  the  candle  before  them,  they  made  a 
hearty  repast 

"  Of  course,  you  can't  eat  half  as  much  as  you 
want  at  table,"  said  one  of  the  young  ladies,  apolo- 
getically ;  "one  always  wants  to  appear  delicate- 
like  before  the  gentlemen," 

**  What  in  goodness'  name.  Nan,  made  breakfast 
so  late?"  said  Dave  the  next  morning,  or  rather 
noon,  as  they  were  returning  home;  "I  thought 
one  while  we  wasn't  goin'  to  get  any." 

*'Why,  you  see,  they  hadn't  any  wheat  flour  in 
the  house  for  the  biscuit,"  said  Nanny,  '*  and  they 
had  to  send  three  miles  over  the  prairie  to  Mr.  John 
Turner's  to  borrow  some." 

"Twenty  people  invited  to  stay  over  night,  and 
no  flour  in  the  house?"  said  Fanny,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  It  rather  shocks  your  Yankee  ideas  of  look- 
ing out  ahead,  Miss  Hunter,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
laughing,  "  We  are  used  to  such  things  out  this 
way." 

"Oh!  Miss  Fanny,  people  can't  remember 
everything,  you  know,"  said  Nanny  ;  "  Belle  says 
they  never  thought  a  word  about  it  till  this  morn- 
ing." 


Joe^s  Search  for  Santa  Claus. 


JOK'S  SEARCH  FOR  SANTA  CLAUS. 

BY   IRVING  BACHEIyLER- 

A   story,   my   child?      Well,   there's  none  that  I 

know 
As  good  as  the  story  about  little  Joe. 
He  lived  with  his  mother,  just  under  the  eaves 
Of  a  tenement  high,  where  the  telegraph  weaves 
Its  highway  of  wire,  that  everywhere  goes, 
An  d  makes  the  night  musical  when  the  wind  blows. 
Their  home  had  no  father — the  two  were  bereft 
Of  all  but  their  appetites — those  never  left ! 
Joe's  grew  with  his  thought ;  a  day  never  passed 
He  spent  not  in  hunger  to  make  the  food  last ; 
And  days  when  his  mother  silently  went 
And  stood   by  the  windows — Joe  knew  what   it 

meant. 
They'd  nothing  for  supper !     The  words  were  so 

sad 
That  somehow  they  drowned  all  the  hunger  he  had. 
And  surely  God's  miracles  never  have  ceased — 
Joe's  hunger  grew  less  when  his  sorrows  increased- 
When  the  coal  ran  out  in  winter's  worst  storm, 
The  fire  burnt  the  harder  that  kept  their  hearts 

warm. 
Their  windows  revealed  many  wonderful  sights, 
Long  acres  of  roofing  and  high-flying  kites  ; 
At  sunset,  the  great  vault  of  heaven  aglow, 
The  lining  of  gold  on  the  clouds  hanging  low, 
The  cross  on  the  top  of  St.  Mary's  high  tower 
Ablaze  with  the  light  of  that  magical  hour; 
And  still,  as  the  arrows  of  light  slanted  higher, 
The  last  thing  in  sight  was  the  great  cross  of  fire. 
Each  day,  as  it  vanished,  the  history  old 
Of  Christ's  crucifixion  was  reverently  told  ; 


84  Christmas  Tales. 

To  Him  the  boy  learned  to  confide  all  his  woes, 
But  oftenest  prayed  for  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
Since  those  that  he  wore  didn't  fit  him  at  all — 
The  coat  was  too  large  and  the  trousers  too  small, 
And  Joe  looked  so  queer,  from  his  head  to  his  feet, 
It  grieved  his  proud  soul  to  be  seen  in  the  street. 
And  sometimes  he  cherished  a  secret  desire 
To  own  a  hand-sled,  or  to  build  a  bonfire  ; 
But  reached  one  conclusion  by  various  routes — 
He  could  have  better  fun  with  a  new  pair  of  boots. 
He  thought  how  the  old  pair,  when  shiny  and 

whole. 
Had  squeaked  in  a  way  that  delighted  his  soul, 
And  remembrance  grew  sad  as  he  strutted  around 
And  tried  hard,  but  vainly,  to  waken  that  sound. 
The  day  before  Christmas  brought  trouble  for  Joe^ 
A  thousand  times  worse.     'Twas  a  terrible  blow 
To  hear  that  old  Santa  Claus,  god  of  his  dreams, 
Would  not  come  that  year  with  his   fleet-footed 

teams. 
He'd  seen  them.     Why,  once,  of  a  night's  witch- 
ing hour 
He  saw  them  jump  over  the  cross  on  the  tower 
And  scamper  away  o'er  the  snow-covered  roofs. 
His  heart  beating  time  to  the  sound  of  their  hoofs. 
Not  coming  this  year  ?    Santa  Claus  must  be  dead^ 
He  thought,  as  with  sad  tears  he  crept  into  bed. 
And,  as  he  lay  thinking,  the  long  strings  of  wire 
Sang  low  in  the  wind  like  a  deep-sounding  lyre, 
And  Joe  caught  the  notes  of  this  solemn  refrain — 
"He'll  not  come  again  !  no,  he'll  not  come  again  !  " 
And  oh  !  how  the  depths  of  his  spirit  were  stirred 
By  thoughts  that  were  born  of  the  music  he  heard  f 
How  cold  were  the  winds,  and  they  sang  in  their 

strife. 
Of  storms  yet  to  come  in  the  winters  of  life. 
They  mocked  him,  but  mark  how  the  faith  of  the 

child 
Stood  firm  as  a  fortress,  its  hope  undefiled  ; 


Joe's  Search  for  SanUi  Claus.  ^ 

For  still  the  boy  thought  that,  if  Santa  Claus  knew 
How  great  were  their  needs  and  their  comforts  how 

few, 
He  would  come  ;  and  at  length,  when  the  first  rays 

of  light 
Had  fathomed  the  infinite  depths  of  the  night, 
And  brightened  the  windows,  Joe  cautiously  crept 
Out  of  bed:  and  he  dressed  while  his  mother  stiU 

slept, 
And  down  the  long  stairways  on  tiptoe  he  ran  ; 
Then  out  in  the  snow,  with  the  will  of  a  man, 
He  went,  looking  hither  and  thither,  because, 
Poor  boy  !  he  was  trying  to  find  Santa  Claus. 
He    hurried    along    through    the   snow-burdened 

street 
As  if  the  good  angels  were  guiding  his  feet; 
And  as  the  sun  rose  in  the  heavens  apace, 
A  radiance  fell  on  his  uplifted  face 
That  came  from  the  cross  g;leaming  far  overhead — 
A  symbol  of  hope  for  the  living  and  dead. 
A  moment  he  looked  at  the  great  house  of  prayer, 
Then  slyly  peeked  in  to  see  what  was  there  ; 
And  entering  softly  he  wandered  at  will 
Through  pathways  of  velvet,  deserted  and  still, 
And  saw  the  light  grow  on  a  wonderful  scene 
Of  ivy-twined  columns  and  arches  of  green, 
And  back  of  the  rail,  where  the  clergyman  knelt, 
He  sat  on  the  cushions  to  see  how  they  felt. 
Ho%v  soft  was  that  velvet  he  stroked  with  his  hand  ! 
But  when  he  lay  down,  oh,  the  feeling  was  grand  ! 
And  while  he  was  musing  the  walls  seemed  to 

sway, 
And  slowly  the  windows  went  moving  away. 
What,  ho  !  there  he  comes  !  with  his  big  pack  and 

all, 
Down  the  sunbeams  that  slope  from  the  high-win- 
dowed wall, 
And  Joe  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not,  if  he  died, 
When  Santa  Claus  came  and  sat  down  by  his  side. 


86  Christinas  Tales. 

**  A  tenement  boy  !  humph!  he  probably  swears." 
(Joe  trembled,   and  tried   hard  to  think    of   his 

prayers. ) 
He  lifted  joe's  eyelids,  he  patted  his  brow, 
And  said.   *'  He  is  not  a  bad  boy,  anyhow." 
But  hark  I  there  is  music  ;  a  deep-swelling  sound 
Is  sweeping  on  high  as  if  heavenward  bound. 
And  suddenly  waking,  Joe  saw  kneeling  there 
The  rector,  long-robed,  who  was  reading  a  prayer. 
"Provide  for  the  fatherless  children,"  said  he 
"The  widowed,  the  helpless,  the   bond  and  the 

free." 
The  rector  stops  praying — his  face  wears  a  frown  ; 
A  ragged  young  gamin  is  pulling  his  gown. 
"I  knowed  you  would  come,"  said  the  boy,  half 

in  fright — 
"  I  knowed  you  would  come — I  was  watchin'  all 

night. 
Say  !  what  are  ye  goin'  t'give  mother  an*  me  ? 
Le'me  see  what  'tis,    Santa  Claus — please  le'me 

see ! ' ' 
The  rector  looked  down  into  Joe's  honest  face, 
And  a  great  wave  of  feeling  swept  over  the  place  ; 
And  tenderly  laying  his  hand  on  Joe's  head, 
He  turned  to  the  people  and  solemnly  said  : 
**We  pray  that  the  poor  may  be  sheltered  and 

fed, 
And  we  leave  it  to  Heaven  to  furnish  the  bread. 
Ye  know,  while  He  feedeth  the  fowls  in  the  air, 
The  children  of   mankind   He  leaves    to    man^s 

care  ; ' ' 
And  kissing  Joe's  face  the  preacher  said  then  ; 
"Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.     Amen  !  " 
That  day  Santa  Claus  came  to  many  a  door 
He'd  forgotten  to  call  at  the  evening  before. 
Was  little  Joe  lucky  ?    Well,  now,  you  are  right. 
And  the  wires  sang  merrily  all  the  next  night. 


Angela^s  Christiaas,  87 


ANGEIvA'S    CHRISTMAa 

BY  JUI,IA    SCHAYER. 

"Then  it  is  'yes,'  father  dear?"  said  Angela, 
looking  across  the  breakfast  table  with  a  smile.  It 
was  her  mother's  smile,  and  the  girl  had  filled  her 
mother's  vacant  chair  for  more  than  a  year. 

The  eyes  of  the  father  and  daughter  met,  and 
Angela  knew,  before  a  word  was  said,  that  she  had 
conquered. 

"I  hate  to  see  you  at  your  age,  beginning  to 
worry  over  these  things,"  Ephraim  Frazier  said, 
regretfully.  ''  Let  the  old  women  take  care  of  the 
charities,  dear.  You  keep  on  dancing  in  the  sun- 
shine a  while  longer,  daughter." 

Angela's  smile  grew  graver,  but  not  less  sweet. 

"I  am  twenty,  dear,"  she  said.  "Too  old  to 
dance  all  the  time,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking, 
you  know.  And — it's  no  use,  papa  dear  !  I  tnust 
do  something!     It  is  'yes,'  isn't  it?" 

"  You  are  sure  you  won't  mind  being  criticised 
and  ridiculed  ? " 

"  Quite  sure  !  "  answered  Angela. 

"  And  sure  you  won't  take  your  failures  and  dis- 
appointments to  heart  too  deeply  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure  I  can  bear  them  bravely,"  answered 
the  girl.  "If  only  one,  just  0716,  of  those  poor 
creatures  may  be  helped,  and  lifted  up,  and 
brought  out  of  darkness,  it  will  be  worth  trying 
for!" 

"  And  what  does  Robert  Johns  say  about  it?  " 

A  glow  kindled  in  Angela's  face. 

"Robert  is  in  perfect  sympathy  with  me,"  she 
said  softly.  Then  again,  this  time  having  risen 
and  gone  around  to  his  side,  to  speak  with  her 


88  Christmas  Tales, 

face  against  the  old  banker's  smoothly  shaven 
cheek,  "It  is  'yes,'  isn't  it,  daddy  dear?  " 

"Well,  yes!  Only  yon  must  go  slow,  dear. 
You  are  not  over  strong,  you  know." 

And  soon  it  came  to  pass  that  on  a  vacant  lot, 
hitherto  given  over  to  refuse  heaps,  haunted  by 
stray  cats,  ragpickers,  and  vagrant  children,  in 
one  of  the  vilest  quarters  of  the  metropolis,  there 
sprang  up,  with  magic  swiftness,  a  commodious 
frame  building,  surrounded  by  smooth  green  sod, 
known  in  the  lower  circles  as  the  Locust  Street 
Home ;  in  upper  circles,  laughingly  denominated 
''Angela's  Experiment." 

Angela  did  not  mind.  It  was  mostly  good- 
natured  laughter,  and  many  of  the  laughers  ended 
by  lending  willing  hands  and  hearts  to  the  cause. 
It  was  wonderful  how  the  news  spread  through  the 
city's  purlieus  that  here  was  a  sanctuary  into 
■which  cold,  hunger,  and  fatigue  dared  not  in- 
trude ;  a  place  which  the  lowest  might  enter  and 
be  made  welcome,  and  go  unquestioned,  his  per- 
sonal rights  as  carefully  respected  as  though  he 
were  one  of  the  Four  Hundred. 

That  was  Angela's  theory.  No  man,  woman,  or 
child  should  be  compelled  to  anything.  First  make 
their  bodies  comfortable,  then  surround  them 
"with  ennobling  influences  and  examples,  enter- 
tain them,  arouse  them,  stimulate  them,  hold  out 
the  helping  hand,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God. 
*'  They  shall  not  even  be  compelled  to  be  clean  !  " 
she  said,  laughing.  "If  the  beautiful  clean  bath- 
rooms and  clean  clothing  do  not  tempt  them  to 
cleanliness,  then  so  be  it !  I  will  have  no  rules ; 
only  influences.     You  will  see  !  " 

And  people  did  see,  and  wondered. 

Sometimes,  on  warm,  pleasant  evenings,  the 
spacious,  cheerful  hall,  with  its  tables  and  chairs, 
K'ould  be  almost  empty  ;  but  on  nights  like  that 
on  which  this  story  opens,  a  dark,  cold  December 


Angela*s  Christmas,  89 

night,  the  seats  were  apt  to  be  well  filled,  mostly 
with  slatternly,  hard-featured  women,  and  dull- 
faced  children,  who  sat  staring  stolidly  about, 
while  the  music  and  speaking  went  on  ;  half  stupe- 
fied by  the  warmth  and  tranquillity  so  foreign  to 
their  lives. 

Outside,  a  dismal  sleet  was  falling,  but  from  the 
open  door  of  the  vestibule  a  great  sheet  of  light 
fell  upon  the  wet  pavement,  and  above  it  glowed  a 
transparency  bearing  the  words  : 

"A  Merry  Christmas  to  all !     Come  in  !  " 

It  was  while  the  singing  was  going  on,  led  by  a 
high,  sweet  girl's  voice,  that  a  human  figure  came 
hobbling  out  from  a  side  street,  and  stopped  short 
at  the  very  edge  of  the  lighted  space. 

A  woman  by  her  dress,  an  old,  old  woman,  with 
a  seamed,  blotched  face  ;  an  ugly,  human  wreck, 
all  torn  and  battered  and  discolored  by  the  storms 
of  life.  Such  was  old  Marg — "Luny  Marg,"  as 
she  was  called  in  the  haunts  that  knew  her  best. 
Her  history  ?  She  had  forgotten  it  herself,  very 
likely,  and  there  was  no  one  to  know  or  care — no 
one  in  the  wide  world  to  care  if  she  should  at  any 
moment  be  trampled  to  death,  or  slip  from  the 
dock  into  the  black  river.  The  garret  which 
lodged  her  would  find  another  tenant ;  the  children 
of  the  gutters  another  target  for  their  missiles.  Not 
that  she  was  worse  than  others — only  that  she  was 
old  and  ugly  and  sharp  of  tongue,  and  the  world 
— even  her  world — has  no  use  for  such  as  she. 

For  some  time  this  forlorn  creature  continued  to 
hover  on  the  edge  of  the  lighted  space.  The  sleet 
had  become  snow,  and  already  a  thin  white  film 
covered  the  pavement,  promising  "  a  white  Christ- 
mas," and  the  cold  increased  from  moment  to 
moment. 

The  woman  drew  her  filthy  shawl  closer ;  her 
jaws  chattered,  yet  she  seemed  unable  to  tear  her- 
self from   the   spot.     Her  eyes,  alert   under  their 


90  Christinas  Tales. 

gray  brows,  as  a  rat's,  were  fixed  now  upon  the  open 
door,  now  upon  the  transparency,  yet  she  made  no 
motion  toward  the  proffered  shelter.  Two  men, 
hirsute  and  ragged,  stopped  near  her  and,  after  a 
moment's  consultation,  slunk  across  the  square  of 
light  and  disappeared  in  the  building.  As  the  door 
was  opened,  there  came  a  fuller  burst  of  song,  and 
a  rush  of  warm  air,  fragrant  with  the  aroma  of 
coffee  and  oysters. 

The  old  woman's  body  quivered  with  desire  ; 
food,  warmth,  rest — all  that  her  miserable  frame  de- 
manded— were  there  within  easy  reach,  for  the 
mere  asking ;  nay  for  the  mere  taking ;  yet 
still  the  devils  of  stubbornness  and  spite  would 
not  let  go  their  hold  upon  her.  But  finally, 
as  a  bitter  blast  swept  the  snow  stingingly 
against  her  face,  she  uttered  a  hoarse  suarl, 
and  glancing  about  to  see  that  no  jeering  eye  was 
upon  her,  the  poor  creature  crept  across  the  pave- 
ment, clambered  up  the  stone  steps,  and,  pushing 
open  the  door,  slipped  into  the  nearest  vacant 
seat. 

The  chairs  and  benches  were  unusually  well  filled. 
Numbers  of  women  and  children  were  in  the  fore- 
ground. A  few  men  were  also  present,  sitting  with 
their  bodies  hanging  forward,  their  hats  tightly 
clutched  between  their  knees,  their  eyes  fixed  on 
the  floor.  The  women  and  children,  on  the  con- 
trary, followed  every  movement  of  the  young 
women  on  the  platform  with  furtive  eagerness. 

The  simplicity  of  attire  which  Angela  and  her 
friends  had  assumed  did  not  deceive  even  the  tin- 
iest gutter-child  present — these  were  "  ladies,"  and 
one  and  all  accorded  them  the  same  tribute  of 
genuine,  if  reluctant,  admiration. 

Old  Marg,  after  the  embarrassment  of  the  first 
moment,  took  everything  in  with  one  hawk-like 
glance — the  Christmas  greens  upon  the  clean, 
white  walls,  the  curtained  space  in  the  rear  which 


Angela's  Christmas.  91 

hid  some  pleasant  mysterj-,  the  men  and  women  on 
the  platform. 

At  the  organ  sat  a  young  girl,  leaning  upon  the 
now  silent  keys,  her  face  toward  the  young  man 
who  was  speaking.  Old  Marg  could  not  take  her 
e^-es  from  this  face — white,  serious,  sweet,  set  in  a 
halo  of  pale  golden  hair.  The  sight  of  it  aroused 
strange  feelings  in  the  bosom  of  the  old  outcast- 
Fascinated,  tortured,  bewildered,  she  sat  and  gazed 
It  was  long  since  she  had  thought  of  her  youtbc 
This  girl  reminded  her  of  that  forgotten  time« 
Like  a  violet  flung  upon  a  refuse-heap,  the  thought 
of  her  own  innocent  girlhood  lay  for  an  instant 
upon  the  foul  mass  of  memories  accumulated  by 
sixty  miserable  years,  *'  /was light-haired,  too  !  " 
ran  old  Marg's  thoughts,  "Light-haired,  an' 
light-complected,  like  her  !  " 

The  perfume  of  that  thought  breathed  across  her 
soul,  and  was  gone.  Still  she  gazed  from  under 
her  shaggy  brows,  and,  without  meaning  to  listen, 
found  herself  hearing  what  the  speaker  was  saying. 
He  was  telling  without  rhetoric  or  cant  the  story 
of  Christ,  and  with  simplicity  and  tact  presenting 
the  lesson  of  His  life. 

"This  joy  of  giving,  of  sacrificing  for  others," 
the  young  man  was  saying  in  his  earnest,  musical 
voice,  "so  far  beyond  the  joy  of  receiving,  is 
within  the  reach  of  every  human  being.  Think  of 
that !  The  poorest  man  or  woman  or  child  who 
breathes  on  earth  to-night  may  know  this  jo v,  may 
give  some  pleasure,  some  help,  some  comfort,  to 
some  fellow-creature.  Whether  it  be  a  human 
creature  or  a  dumb  beast,  matters  not.  It  is  all  one 
in  God's  sight,  being  an  act  of  love  and  kindness 
and  sacrifice." 

Old  ^larg  looked  down  upon  her  squalid  rags  ; 
her  rough  features  writhed  with  a  scornful  smile. 
"  That's  a  lie  !  "  she  muttered.  "What  could  the 
likes  of  me  do  for  anybody,  I'd  like  to  know  !  " 


92  Christmas  Tales. 

Still  she  listened ;  but  at  last,  as  the  -warmth 
stole  through  her  sodden  garments,  and  into  her 
chilled  veins,  and  the  peace  of  the  place  penetrated 
the  turbulent  recesses  of  her  soul,  the  man's  voice 
became  like  a  voice  heard  in  a  dream,  and  the  old 
outcast  slept. 

A  confused  sound  greeted  her  awakening.  Some 
one  was  playing  the  organ  jubilantly  ;  people  were 
moving  about — girls  with  trays  loaded  with  steam- 
ing dishes ;  children  were  talking  and  laughing  ex- 
citedly. The  curtain  had  been  drawn,  and  a  great 
Christmas-tree  almost  blinded  her  with  its  splendor. 
She  stared  about  in  bewilderment.  She  looked  at 
the  tree,  at  the  people,  at  her  own  foul  rags.  A  fierce 
revulsion  of  feeling  swept  over  her.  Rage,  shame, 
a  desire  to  get  out  of  sight,  to  be  swallowed  up  in 
the  darkness  and  misery  which  were  her  proper 
element,  seized  and  mastered  her.  She  staggered 
to  her  feet.  A  young  girl  approached  her  with  a 
tray  of  tempting  food.  The  sight  and  smell  of  it 
goaded  the  starved  creature  to  madness.  She  could 
have  fallen  upon  it  like  a  wolf,  but  instead  she 
pushed  the  girl  roughly  aside  and  fumbled  dizzily 
at  the  door-knob. 

A  hand  was  laid  upon  her  arm.  The  girl  with 
the  sweet,  white  face  was  looking  at  her  with  a 
friendly  smile. 

•'  Won't  you  stay  and  have  something  warm  to 
eat  before  going  into  the  cold?"  the  girl  asked 
gently. 

Old  Marg  shook  the  hand  from  her  arm. 

"No!"  she  snarled.  "I  don't  want  nothin' ! 
lyct  me  go  !  " 

With  a  patient  smile  Angela  opened  the  door. 

'*  I  am  sorry  you  will  not  stay,"  she  said  softly. 
**It  would  give  me  great  pleasure.  There  is  a  gift 
for  you  on  the  tree,  too.  It  is  Christmas  Eve,  you 
know  !  " 


AngeWs  Christmas.  93 

A  hoarse,  choking  sound  came  from  the  woman's 
lips.  She  pushed  by  into  the  vestibule.  Angela 
followed. 

"  If  you  should  feel  differently  to-morrow,"  she 
said,  in  her  kind,  gentle  voice,  '*  come  here  again, 
about  eleven  o'clock.  I  shall  be  here."  Without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  she  re-entered  the  hall.  A 
young  man,  the  same  who  had  been  speaking,  met 
her  at  the  door. 

"Angela  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  should  not  be 
out  there  in  the  cold  !"  She  smiled  absently.  "  Did 
you  see  her,  Robert?" 

"  That  terrible  old  woman  ?  Yes,  I  saw  her.  A 
hopeless  case,  I  fear." 

Angela's  eyes  kept  their  absent  look. 

*'  It  was  awful  to  see  her  go  away  like  that,  into 
the  cold  and  snow,  hungry  and  half-clad  !"  she 
said. 

The  young  man  leaned  nearer.  "Angela,"  he 
whispered.  "  You  must  not  let  these  things  sink 
into  your  heart  as  you  do,  or  you  cannot  bear  the 
work  you  have  undertaken.  As  for  that  old  crea- 
ture, it  is  terrible  to  think  of  her,  but  she  seemed 
to  me  beyond  our  reach." 

' '  But  not  beyond  God's  reach  through  us  f*^  said 
Angela. 

Meantime  old  Marg  was  facing  the  storm  with 
rage  and  pain  in  her  face  and  in  her  heart.  The 
streets  were  deserted,  and  lighted  only  by  such 
beams  as  found  their  way  through  the  dirty  win- 
dows of  shops  and  saloons.  From  these  last  came 
sounds  of  revelry  and  contention,  and  at  one  or 
another  the  poor  creature  paused,  listening  without 
fear  to  the  familiar  hubbub.  Should  she  go  in  ? 
Some  one  might  give  her  a  drink,  to  ease  for  a  time 
the  terrible  gnawing  at  her  breast.  Might?  Yes  ; 
but  more  likely  she  would  be  thrust  out  with  jeers 
and  curses,  and,  for  some  reason,  old  Marg  was  in 


94  Christmas  Tales, 

no  mood  to  use  the  caustic  wit  and  ready  tongue 
that  were  her  only  weapons.  So  she  staggered  on 
until  the  swarming  tenement  was  reached,  stum- 
bled up  the  five  flights  of  unillumined  stairs,  and 
almost  fell  headlong  into  the  dismal  garret  which 
she  called  her  home. 

Feeling  about  in  the  darkness,  she  found  a  match 
and  lit  a  bit  of  candle  which  stopped  the  neck  of 
an  empty  bottle.  It  burned  uncertainly  as  if  re- 
luctant to  disclose  the  scene  upon  which  its  light 
fell.  A  smoke-stained,  sloping  ceiling,  a  black- 
ened floor,  a  shapeless  mattress  heaped  with  rags,  a 
deal  box,  a  rusty  stove  resting  upon  two  bricks, 
supporting  in  its  turn  an  ancient  frying-pan,  a 
chipped  saucer,  and  a  battered  tin  can  from  which, 
when  the  scavenger  business  was  good,  old  Marg 
served  afternoon  tea — such  were  her  home  and  all 
her  personal  belongings. 

There  was  no  fire,  nor  any  means  of  producing 
one,  but  upon  the  box  was  spread  a  piece  of  paper 
containing  a  slice  of  bread  and  a  soup-bone, 
whereto  clung  some  fragments  of  meat — the  gift  of 
a  neighbor  hardly  less  wretched  than  herself. 

The  old  woman's  eyes  glittered  at  the  sight,  and, 
seizing  the  food,  she  sank  weakly  upon  the  box  and 
began  gnawing  at  it ;  but  her  toothless  jaws,  stiff 
with  cold,  made  no  impression  upon  the  tough 
meat  and  hard  crust,  and  letting  them  drop  to  the 
floor,  the  poor  creature  fell  to  rocking  to  and  fro, 
whimpering  tearlessly,  like  a  suffering  dog. 
Strangely  enough,  within  the  withered  bosom  of 
this  most  wretched  creature  there  had  welled  up, 
from  some  hidden  source  of  womanly  feeling,  a 
passionate  self-pity,  a  no  less  passionate  self-loath- 
ing. This  was  what  a  moment's  contact  with  all 
that  she  had  so  long  abjured — purity,  order,  gen- 
tleness— had  brought  to  pass. 

That  fair  young  girl — tall,  pale,  sweet  as  an 
Easter  lily — stood   before  her  like  an  incarnate 


Angela's  Christmas.  95 

memory,  pointing  toward  the  past,  the  far-distant 
past,  when  she,  too,  was  young,  and  pretty,  and 
innocent,  and  gay — too  pretty  and  too  gay  for  a 
poor  working  girl  !  That  was  where  the  trouble 
began. 

'*  1  was  light  haired,  too,"  moaned  old  Marg, 
twisting  her  withered  fingers  restlessly.  "Light- 
haired,  and  light-complected  !  A  pretty  girl,  an'  a 
good  girl,  too  !  Not  like  her.  No  !  How  could  I 
be?  Little  the  likes  o' her  knows  what  the  likes 
o'  me  has  to  face  !     Lord  ! " 

The  bit  of  cand!  e  guttered  and  went  out.  The  cold 
increased.  It  had  ceased  snowing,  and  a  keen  wind 
had  arisen,  tearing  the  clouds  into  shreds  through 
which  the  stars  gleamed.  And  presently  the  moon 
climbed  up  behmd  the  belfry  of  the  old  church 
across  the  square,  and  sent  one  broad  white  ray 
through  the  dingy  window  and  across  the  floor. 
All  at  once  the  great  bell  began  to  strike  the  mid- 
night hour,  its  mingled  vibrations  filling  the  gar- 
ret with  tumultuous  sounds.  The  \nsion  of  the  fair 
girl  faded,  and  old  Marg  was  herself  again,  a  hard, 
bitter,  rebellious  old  woman,  with  a  burning  care 
where  her  heart  had  been,  and  only  one  thought, 
one  desire,  left  in  her  desperate  mind— the  thought 
and  the  desire  of  death. 

In  young  and  passionate  days  she  had  often 
thought  of  seeking  that  way  out  of  life's  agonies, 
but  at  its  worst  there  is  always  some  sweetness  left 
in  the  cup — when  one  is  young  !  It  was  not  sa 
now.  The  dregs  only  had  been  hers  for  many  a 
year,  and  she  had  enough.  Death — yes,  that  was 
best. 

Her  eyes  glittered  as  she  cast  a  look  about  the 
silent  room.  Bare,  even  of  the  means  to  this  end  I 
Ah,  the  window  ! 

"With  an  inarticulate  cry  the  woman  arose  and 
hobbled  along  the  shining  moon-ray  to  the  wnu- 
dow,  and  threw  open  the  sash.    Awed  by  the  stern 


96  Christmas  Tales. 

beauty  of  the  heavens,  the  splendor  of  the  moon 
tangled  in  the  lace-like  carvings  of  the  belfry  as  in 
a  net,  she  leaned  some  moments  against  the  sill, 
looking  out  and  down.  Far  below  lay  the  deserted 
square,  its  white  bosom  traced  with  the  sharp 
shadow  of  the  tower.  With  a  keen  eye  old  Marg 
measured  the  distance,  a  sheer  descent  of  fifty  feet. 
Nothing  to  break  the  fall — nothing  ! 

One  movement,  a  swift  fall,  and  that  white  sur- 
face would  be  broken  by  a  black  shapeless  heap. 
A  policeman  would  find  it  on  his  next  round,  or 
some  drunken  reveler  would  stumble  over  it,  or 
the  good  people  on  their  way  to  early  mass — ah  ! 
The  seamed  countenance  lit  up  suddenly  with  a 
malignant  joy. 

Why  not  wait  until  they  began  to  pass — those 
pious,  respectable  people  in  their  comfortable  furs 
and  wools — and  cast  herself  into  their  midst,  a 
ghastly  Christmas  offering  from  Poverty  to  Riches, 
from  Sin  to  Virtue?  This  suggestion  commended 
itself  highly  to  her  sense  of  humor.  With  a  hoarse 
chuckle  she  was  about  to  close  the  window  when  a 
portion  of  the  shadow  that  lay  alongside  the 
chimney  showed  signs  of  life,  and,  rising  on  four 
long  and  skinny  legs,  became  a  cat — a  lean,  black 
cat,  which  crept  meekly  toward  the  window,  its 
phosphorescent  eyes  gleaming,  its  lank  jaws  parted 
in  a  vain  effort  to  mew.  Startled,  old  Marg  drew 
l^ack  for  an  instant ;  then,  glancing  from  the  ani- 
mal to  the  pavement  below,  a  brutal  cunning,  a 
malicious  pleasure,  lit  up  the  witch-like  features. 
Reaching  out  one  skinny  arm,  she  called  coax- 
ingly  :  "  Puss  !     Puss  !  " 

The  cat  dragged  herself  up  to  the  outstretched 
arm,  rubbing  her  lank  body  caressingly  against  it. 

The  cruel,  cunning  old  face  softened  suddenly. 
* '  Lord  !  ' '  muttered  old  Marg,  * '  if  she  ain  't  a-try in' 
to  purr!    Wall,  that  beats  me  !  " 

The  poor  beast  continued  its  piteous  appeal  for 


Angela^s  Christmas  97 

aid,  arching  its  starved  frame,  waving  its  tail, 
fawning  unsuspectingly  against  the  arm  that  had 
threatened. 

With  an  impulse  new  to  her  misery-hardened 
heart,  old  Marg  drew  the  animal  in  and  closed  the 
window.  Far  from  resisting,  the  cat  nestled  against 
her  with  every  sign  of  pleasure. 

"She's  been  somebody's  pet,"  said  the  old 
woman,  placing  her  on  the  floor.  "  She  ain't  al- 
ways been  like  this." 

The  divine  emotion  of  pity,  so  new  to  this  for- 
lorn creature,  grew  and  swelled  in  her  bosom. 
The  man  at  the  hall  had  not  lied,  after  all.  Here 
was  another  of  God's  creatures  as  miserable  as  her- 
self— nay,  more  so,  for  she  had  a  roof  to  shelter 
her  I  And  she  could  share  it  with  this  homeless 
one. 

**  Poor  puss  !  "  muttered  old  Marg,  stroking  the 
rough  fur.  "You're  starviu',  too,  ain't  ye?  an'  I 
aiut  got  nothin'  to  give  ye,  not  a  bite  or  a  sup. 
Ah  !  >' 

Her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  the  discarded  food. 
Eagerly  she  seized  it  and  placed  it  before  the  cat ; 
the  starving  creature  gnawed  greedily  at  the  bone 
an  instant,  then  locked  up  with  a  hopeless  mew. 

The  old  woman  felt  a  keener  pang  of  pity. 

"Poor  beast!"  she  said,  with  a  bitter  smile. 
"Ye  can't  eat  'em,  can  ye?  No  more  could  I! 
We're  in  the  same  box,  puss  !  Old,  an'  toothless, 
an'  nobody  belongin'  to  us.  W^e'U  have  to  starve 
together,  I  guess.  An'  it's  Christmas  day  !  Did  ye 
know  that,  puss?    Christmas  day  !    Lord  !  Lord  !  " 

The  cat  rubbed  against  her  skirts,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  benefactor's.  "Seems  to  understand 
every  word  I  say  !  "  old  Marg  muttered.  "  If  only 
I  had  a  drop  o'  milk  for  her  now  !  " 

Hobbling  to  the  stove,  she  examined  the  bat- 
tered tin  can,  letting  the  moonlight  shine  into  its 
rusty  depths.     A  little  water  or  tea  remained  in  it, 


98  Christmas  Tales, 

and  with  thi.s  she  moistened  some  of  the  bread  and 
placed  it  before  the  cat,  which  devoured  it  now 
eagerly.  Then  she  took  the  animal  in  her  arms 
and  laid  herself  down  on  the  mattress,  drawing 
the  ragged  covers  over  them.  The  cat  nestled 
against  her  side  ;  the  warmth  of  the  two  poor 
bodies  mingled,  and  both  slept. 

The  moon-ray  crept  along  and  spread  itself  over 
the  heap  of  rags,  the  knotted  fingers  resting  on  the 
cat's  rough  fur,  the  seamed  old  face  ;  it  passed 
away,  and  morning  dawned,  with  a  peal  of  bells 
and  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  pavement  below, 
and  still  the  two  slept  on. 

Angela  stood  near  the  door,  receiving  her  Christ- 
mas guests.  They  came  straggling  in,  in  twos  and 
threes,  some  boldly  and  impudently,  some  shame- 
faced and  shy,  some  eager,  some  indifferent,  but 
all  poverty-pinched.  Each  one  was  pleasantly 
welcomed,  and  passed  on  to  the  feast.  Angela 
watched  and  waited,  and  at  last  the  door  opened 
slowly  to  admit  old  Marg,  who  stopped  short  on 
the  threshold,  with  a  look  at  once  stubborn,  ap- 
pealing, suspicious,  ashamed.  Like  a  wild  animal 
on  the  alert  for  the  faintest  sign  of  repulsion  or 
danger,  she  stood  there,  but  Angela  only  smiled, 
proffering  her  w^hite,  soft  hand,  destitute  of  jewels, 
but  the  hand  of  a  lady. 

"  A  Merry  Christmas  !  "  she  said  brightly. 

**I  was  ugly  to  ye  last  night,"  said  old  Marg 
huskily,  ignoring  the  beautiful  hand  she  dared  not 
touch. 

"  Never  mind ! "  Angela  answered  sweetly.  "You 
were  tired." 

'*  I  am  a  bad  old  woman  !  "  said  old  Marg,  mis- 
trustfully. 

"  Never  mind  that,  either  !  "  said  Angela.  "  Let 
me  be  your  friend.  If  you  will,  you  shall  never  be 
©old  or  hungry  again." 


Angela's  ChristTnas.  99 

A  pcofound  wonder  came  into  the  old  face — then 
it  began  to  writhe,  and  from  each  eye  oozed  scant 
tears,  seeking  a  channel  amid  the  seams  and 
wrinkles  of  the  sunken  cheeks. 

"You  will  let  me  be  your  friend,"  urged  Angela, 

Still  old  Marg  wept  silently,  the  scant  tears  of  age, 

"You  shall  have  a  pleasant  home  and " 

A  swift,  suspicious  glance  darted  from  the  wet  eyes. 

"Not  a  'sylum,  miss,  please!"  said  the  old 
woman. 

"No,"  said  Angela  quietly.  "Not  an  asylum, 
A  home — a  bright,  clean,  comfortable  home ** 

"  I  can  work,  miss  !  "  put  in  old  Marg,  doubling 
her  knotted  hands  to  show  their  strength.  "  I  can 
wash,  an'  scrub " 

"Yes,"  said  Angela,  "you  may  work  all  you  are 
able,  helping  to  keep  things  clean  and  comfortable, " 

Still  old  Marg  looked  doubtful.  Wiping  her 
cheeks  with  a  corner  of  the  shawl,  she  half  turned 
toward  the  door, 

"Have  you  a  family,  or  any  one  belonging  to 
you  ?  "  asked  Angela,  thinking  to  have  reached  the 
root  of  the  difficulty. 

"  Yes, "  said  the  old  woman  stoutly.  *'  I  have  a 
cat.     Where  I  go,  she  must  go,  too  ! ' ' 

Angela  patted  the  grimy  hand,  with  a  laugh 
which  was  good  to  hear. 

"I  understand  you  perfectly,"  she  said.  "I 
have  a  cat  of  my  own.  You  and  your  cat  shall  not 
be  separated." 

A  half-hour  later  entered  the  young  man  Robert 
Angela  pointed  silently  to  old  Marg,  sitting  in  a 
warm  corner,  contentedly  munching  her  Christmas 
dinner.  "What  have  you  done  to  her?"  he 
asked.     "  She  looks  more  human  already." 

Angela  laughed  again,  that  same  laugh  which 
goes  to  one's  heart  so,  "I  have  adopted  her — and 
her  cat !  '  *  she  answered.     '*  That's  all !  " 


100  Christmas  Tales, 


THE    FIRST    PURITAN    CHRISTMAS    TREE. 
(anonymous.) 

Mrs.  Olcott  called  her  bovs,  and  bade  them  go 
to  the  pine  woods  and  get  the  finest,  handsomest 
young  hemlock  tree  that  they  could  find. 

**  Get  one  that  is  straight  and  tall,  with  well- 
boughed  branches  on  it,  and  put  it  where  you  can 
draw  it  under  the  wood-shed  after  dark , "  she  added. 

The  boys  went  to  Pine  Hill,  and  there  they 
picked  out  the  finest  j^oung  tree  on  all  the  hill, 
and  said,  "  We  will  take  this  one. "  So,  with  their 
hatchets  they  hewed  it  down  and  brought  it  safely 
home  the  next  night  when  all  was  dark.  And 
when  Roger  was  quietly  sleeping  in  the  adjoining 
room,  they  dragged  the  tree  into  the  kitchen.  It 
was  too  tall,  so  they  took  it  out  again  and  cut  it  off 
two  Of  three  feet  at  the  base.  Then  they  propped 
it  up,  and  the  curtains  being  down  over  the  win- 
dows, and  blankets  being  fastened  over  the  curtains 
to  prevent  any  one  looking  in,  and  the  door  being 
doubly  barred  to  prevent  any  one  coming  in,  they 
all  went  to  bed. 

Very  early  the  next  morning,  while  the  stars 
shone  on  the  snow-covered  hills — the  same  stars 
that  shone  sixteen  hundred  years  before  on  the 
hills  when  Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem — the 
little  Puritan  mother  in  New  England  arose  very 
softly.  She  went  out  and  lit  the  kitchen  fire  anew 
from  the  ash-covered  embers.  She  fastened  upon 
the  twigs  of  the  tree  the  gifts  she  had  bought  in 
Boston  for  her  boys  and  girl.  Then  she  took  as 
many  as  twenty  pieces  of  candle  and  fixed  them 
upon  the  branches.  After  that  she  softly  called 
Rupert,  Robert  and  Lucy,  and  told  them  to  get  up 
and  come  into  the  kitchen. 


The  Fird  Puritan  Christmas  Tree.      101 

Hurrying  back,  she  began,  with  a  bit  of  a  burn- 
ing stick,  to  light  the  candles.  Just  as  the  last 
one  was  set  aflame,  in  trooped  the  three  children. 

Before  they  had  time  to  say  a  word,  they  were 
silenced  by  their  mother's  warning. 

"  I  wish  to  fetch  Roger  in  and  wake  him  up  be- 
fore it,"  she  said.     "Keep  still  until  I  come  back  !" 

The  little  lad,  fast  asleep,  was  lifted  in  a  blanket 
and  gently  carried  by  his  mother  into  the  beautiful 
presence. 

'*  See  !  Roger,  my  boy,  see  !"  she  said,  arousing 
him.  "It  is  Christmas  morning  now  !  In  Eng- 
land they  only  have  Christmas-boughs,  but  here  in 
New  England  we  have  a  whole  Christmas-tree." 

"  O  mother  !"  he  cried.  "  O  Lucy  !  Is  it  really, 
really  true,  and  no  dream  at  all?  Yes,  I  see!  I 
see  !  O  mother,  it  is  so  beautiful !  Were  all  the 
trees  on  all  the  hills  lighted  up  that  way  when 
Christ  was  born?  And,  mother,"  he  added,  clap- 
ping his  little  hands  with  joy  at  the  thought,  "why, 
yes,  the  stars  did  sing  when  Christ  was  born  !  They 
must  be  glad,  then,  and  keep  Christmas,  too,  in 
heaven,  I  know  they  must,  and  there  will  be 
good  times  there." 

"Yes,"  said  his  mother;  "there  will  be  good 
times  there,  Roger." 

"Then,"  said  the  boy,  "I  sha'n't  mind  going, 
now  that  I've  seen  the  Christmas-bough.  I — 
What  is  that,  mother?" 

What  was  it  that  they  heard  ?  The  little  Olcott 
home  had  never  before  seemed  to  tremble  so. 
There  w^ere  taps  at  the  window,  there  were  knocks 
at  the  door — and  it  was  as  yet  scarcely  the  break 
of  day  1  There  were  voices  also,  shouting  some- 
thing to  somebody. 

"Shall  I  put  out  the  candles,  mother?"  whim- 
pered Robert. 

"  What  will  they  do  to  us  for  having  the  tree?  I 
wish  we  hadn't  it,"  regretted  Rupert ;  while  Lucy 


102  Christmas  Tales. 

clung  to  her  mother's  gown  and  shrieked  with  ail 
her  strength,  "  It's  Indians  !" 

Pale  and  white  and  still,  ready  to  meet  her  fate, 
stood  Mrs.  Olcott,  until,  out  of  the  knocking  and 
the  tapping  at  her  door,  her  heart  caught  a  sound. 
It  was  a  voice  calling,  "Rachel !  Rachel !  Rachel  V 

**  Unbar  the  door  !"  she  cried  back  to  her  boys  ; 
"it's  your  father  calling!"  Down  came  the 
blankets ;  up  went  the  curtain  ;  open  flew  the 
door,  and  in  walked  Captain  Olcott,  followed  by 
every  man  and  woman  in  Plymouth  who  had  heard 
at  break  of  day  the  glorious  news  that  the  ex- 
pected ship  had  arrived  at  Boston,  and  with  it  the 
long  lost  Captain  Olcott.  For  an  instant  nothing 
was  thought  of  except  the  joyous  welcoming  of  the 
Captain  in  his  new  home. 

^♦What's  this?  What  is  it?  What  does  this 
mean?"  was  asked  again  and  again,  when  the  first 
excitement  was  passed,  as  the  tall  young  pine  stood 
aloft,  its  candles  ablaze,  its  gifts  still  hanging. 

"  It's  welcome  home  to  father  !"  said  Lucy,  her 
only  thought  to  screen  her  mother. 

'*No,  child,  no!"  sternly  spoke  Mrs.  Olcott 
••Tell  the  truth!" 

"  It's — a — Christmas-tree  !"  faltered  poor  Lucy. 

One  and  another  and  another,  Pilgrims  and  Puri- 
tans all,  drew  near  with  faces  stern  and  forbidding, 
and  gazed  and  gazed,  until  one  and  another  and 
yet  another  softened  slowly  into  a  smile  as  little 
Roger's  piping  voice  sung  out : 

"She  made  it  for  me,  mother  did.  But  you  may- 
have  it  n  ow,  and  all  the  pretty  things  that  are  on  it, 
too,  because  j'ou've  brought  my  father  back  again  ; 
if  mother  will  let  you,"  he  added. 

Neither  Pilgrim  nor  Puritan  frowned  at  the  gift. 
One  man,  the  sternest  there,  broke  off  a  little  twig 
and  said  : 

"I'll  take  it  for  the  sake  of  the  good  old  times  at 
home." 


The  First  Christmas  in  New  England.    lOS 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

BY   HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH, 

They  thought  they  had  come  to  their  port  that  day. 

But  not  yet  was  their  journey  done  ; 
And  they  drifted  away  from  Provincetown  Bay 

In  the  fireless  light  of  the  sun. 
With  rain  and  sleet  were  the  tall  masts  iced, 

And  gloomy  and  chill  was  the  air, 
But  they  looked  from  the  crystal  sails  to  Christ, 
And  they  came  to  a  harbor  fair. 

The  white  hills  silent  lay, — 
For  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring. 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  winter  day. 

The  snow  came  down  on  the  vacant  seas, 

And  white  on  the  lone  rocks  lay, — 
But  rang  the  axe  'mong  the  evergreen  tree* 

And  followed  the  Sabbath  day. 
Then  rose  the  sun  in  a  crimson   haze, 

And  the  workmen  said  at  dawn  : 
"Shall  our  axes  swing  on  this  day  of  days, 
When  the  Lord  of  Life  was  born  ? " 
The  white  hills  silent  lay, — 
For  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring. 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gra}',  cold  Christmas  Day. 

•*The  old  town's  bells  we  seem  to  hear  : 
They  are  ringing  sweet  on  the  Dee  ; 

They  are  ringing  sweet  on  the  Harlem  Meer, 
And  sweet  on  the  Zuyder  Zee. 


104  Christmas  Tales. 

The  pines  are  frosted  with  snow  and  sleet. 

Shall  we  our  axes  wield 
When  the  chimes  at  Lincoln  are  ringing  sweet 
And  the  bells  of  Austerfield?  " 

The  air  was  cold  and  gray, — 
And  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring. 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day. 

Then  the  master  said,  "Your  axes  wield. 

Remember  ye  Malabarre  Bay  ; 
And  the  covenant  there  with  the  Lord  ye  sealed  ; 

Let  your  axes  ring  to-day. 
You  may  talk  of  the  old  town's  bells  to-night. 

When  your  work  for  the  Lord  is  done. 
And  your  boats  return,  and  the  shallop's  light 
Shall  follow  the  light  of  the  sun. 

The  sky  is  cold  and  gray, — 
And  here  are  no  ancient  bells  to  ring. 
No  prieets  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king. 
This  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day. 

•*  If  Christ  was  born  on  Christmas  Day, 

And  the  day  by  Him  is  blest. 
Then  low  at  His  feet  the  evergreens  lay 

And  cradle  His  church  in  the  West. 
Immanuel  waits  at  the  temple  gates 

Of  the  nation  to-day  ye  found, 
And  the  Lord  delights  in  no  formal  rites  ; 
To-day  let  your  axes  sound  !  " 

The  sky  was  cold  and  gray, — 
And  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  riug^ 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing. 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day. 


The  First  Christmas  in  New  England.  105 

Their  axes  rang  through  the  evergreen  trees 

Like  the  bells  on  the  Thames  and  Tay  ; 
And  they  cheerily  sang  by  the  windy  seas, 

And  they  thought  of  Malabarre  Bay. 
On  the  lonely  heights  of  Burial  Hill 

The  old  Precisioners  sleep  ; 
But  did  ever  men  with  a  nobler  will 
A  holier  Christmas  keep, 

When  the  sky  was  cold  and  gray, — 
And  there  were  no  ancient  bells  to  ring. 
No  priests  to  chant,  no  choirs  to  sing, 
No  chapel  of  baron,  or  lord,  or  king, 
That  gray,  cold  Christmas  Day  ? 


106  Christmas  Tales 


THE    CHIMES. 

BY  CHARI^ES  DICKENS. 


First  Quarter. 

There  are  cot  many  people — and  as  it  is  desir- 
able that  a  story-teller  and  a  story-reader  should 
establish  a  mutual  understanding  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, I  beg  it  to  be  noticed  that  I  confine  this 
observation  neither  to  young  people  nor  to  little 
people,  but  extend  it  to  all  conditions  of  peo- 
ple :  little  and  big,  young  and  old :  yet  grow- 
ing up,  or  already  growing  down  again— there  are 
not,  I  say,  many  people  who  would  care  to  sleep  in 
a  church.  I  don't  mean  at  sermon  time  in  warm 
weather  (when  the  thing  has  actually  been  done, 
once  or  twice),  but  in  the  night,  and  alone.  A 
great  multitude  of  persons  will  be  violently  aston- 
ished, I  know,  by  this  position,  in  the  broad  bold 
Day.  But  it  applies  to  Night.  It  must  be  argued 
by  night.  And  I  will  undertake  to  maintain  it 
successfully  ou  any  gusty  winter's  night  appointed 
for  the  purpose,  with  any  one  opponent  chosen 
from  the  rest,  who  will  meet  me  singly  in  an  old 
churchyard,  before  an  old  church  door ;  and  will 
previously  empower  me  to  lock  him  in,  if  needful 
to  his  satisfaction,  until  morning.  ^ 

For  the  night-wind  has  a  dismal  trick  of 
wandering  round  and  round  a  building  of  that 
sort,  and  moaning  as  it  goes ;  and  of  trying 
with  its  unseen  hand,  the  windows  and  the 
doors  ;  and  seeking  out  some  crevices  by  which 
to  enter.  And  when  it  has  got  in  ;  as  one  not 
finding    what  it    seeks,    whatever  that    may    be, 


The  Chimes.  107 

it  v/ails  and  howls  to  issue  forth  again  ;  and 
not  content  with  stalking  through  the  aisles,  and 
gliding  round  and  round  the  pillars,  and  tempting 
the  deep  organ,  soars  up  to  the  roof,  and  strives  to 
rend  the  rafters ;  then  flings  itself  despairingly 
upon  the  stones  below,  and  passes,  muttering,  into 
the  vaults.  Ugh !  Heaven  preserve  us,  sitting 
snugly  round  the  fire  !  It  has  an  awful  voice,  that 
wind  at  midnight,  singing  in  a  church  ! 

But,  high  up  in  the  steeple !  There  the  foul 
blast  roars  and  whistles  !  High  up  in  the  steeple, 
where  it  is  free  to  come  and  go  through  many  an 
airy  arch  and  loophole,  and  to  twist  and  twine  it- 
self about  the  giddy  stair,  and  twirl  the  groaning 
w^eathercock,  and  make  the  very  tower  shake  and 
shiver  ! 

High  up  in  the  steeple  of  an  old  church,  far 
above  the  light  and  murmur  of  the  town  and  far 
below  the  flying  clouds  that  shadow  it,  is  the  wild 
and  dreary  place  at  night  :  and  high  up  in  the 
steeple  of  an  old  church,  dwelt  the  Chimes  I  tell 
of 

They  were  old  Chimes,  trust  me.  Centuries  ago, 
these  Bells  had  been  baptized  by  bishops  :  so  many 
centuries  ago,  that  the  register  of  their  baptism 
was  lost  long,  long  before  the  memory  of  man, 
and  no  one  knew  their  names.  They  had  had  their 
Godfathers  and  Godmothers,  these  Bells  (for  my 
part,  by  the  way,  I  would  rather  incur  the  respon- 
sibility of  being  Godfather  to  a  Bell  than  a  Boy), 
and  had  had  their  silver  mugs,  no  doubt,  besides. 
But  Time  had  mowed  down  their  sponsors,  and 
Henry  the  Eighth  had  melted  down  their  mugs  ; 
and  they  now  hung,  nameless  and  mugless,  in  the 
church  tower. 

Not  speechless,  though.  Far  from  it.  They  had 
clear,  loud,  lusty,  sounding  voices,  had  these  Bells  ; 
and  far  and  wide  they  might  be  heard  upon  the 
wind.     Much  too  sturdy  Chimes  were  they,  to  be 


108  Christmas  Tales. 

dependent  on  the  pleasure  of  the  wind,  moreover; 
for,  fightinsf  gallantly  against  it  when  it  took  an 
adverse  whim,  they  would  pour  their  cheerful 
notes  into  a  listening  ear  right  royally  ;  and  bent 
on  being  heard,  on  stormy  nights,  by  some  poor 
mother  watching  a  sick  child,  or  some  lone  wife 
whose  husband  was  at  sea,  they  had  been  some- 
times known  to  beat  a  blustering  Nor'Wester  ;  ay, 
"all  to  fits,"  as  Toby  Veck  said  ; — for  though  they 
chose  to  call  him  Trotty  Veck,  his  name  was  Toby, 
and  nobody  couM  make  it  anything  else  either 
(except  Tobias)  ;  he  having  been  as  lawfully  chris- 
tened in  his  day  as  the  bells  had  been  in  theirs, 
though  with  not  quite  so  much  of  solemnity  or 
public  rejoicing. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  myself  of  Toby  Veck's 
belief,  for  I  am  sure  he  had  opportunities  enough 
of  forming  a  correct  one.  And  whatever  Toby 
Veck  said,  I  say.  And  I  take  my  stand  by  Toby 
Veck,  although  he  did  stand  all  day  long  (and 
weary  work  it  was)  just  outside  the  church-door. 
In  fact  he  was  a  ticket-porter,  Toby  Veck,  and 
waited  there  for  jobs. 

And  a  breezy,  goose-skinned,  blue-nosed,  red- 
eyed,  stony-toed,  tooth-chattering  place  it  was  to 
wait  in,  in  the  winter-time,  as  Toby  Veck  well 
knew.  The  wind  came  tearing  round  the  corner — 
especially  the  east  wind — as  if  it  had  sallied  forth, 
express,  from  the  confines  of  the  earth,  to  have  a 
blow  at  Toby.  And  oftentimes  it  seemed  to  come 
upon  him  sooner  than  it  had  expected,  for  bounc- 
ing round  the  corner,  and  passing  Toby,  it  would 
suddenly  wheel  round  again,  as  if  it  cried  "Why, 
here  he  is  !  " 

Toby  was  curious  about  the  Bells  because  there 
were  points  of  resemblance  between  them  and 
him.  They  hung  there  in  all  weathers,  with  the 
wind  and  rain  driving  in  upon  them  ;  facing  only 
the  outsides  of  all  the  houses;  never  getting  anj' 


The  Chimes.  109 

nearer  to  the  blazing  fires  that  gleamed  and  shone 
upon  the  windows  or  came  puffing  out  of  the 
chimney  tops  ;  and  iucapable  of  participating  in 
any  of  the  good  things  that  were  constantly  being 
handed  through  the  street  doors  and  iron  railings 
to  prodigious  cooks.  Being  but  a  simple  man,  he  in- 
vested the  Bells  with  a  strange  and  solemn  character. 
They  were  so  mysterious,  often  heard  and  never 
seen  ;  so  high  up,  so  far  off,  so  full  of  such  a  deep, 
strong  melody,  that  he  regarded  them  with  a  species 
of  awe  ;  and  sometimes  when  he  looked  up  at  the 
dark  arched  windows  in  the  tower,  he  half  ex- 
pected to  be  beckoned  to  by  something  which  was 
not  a  Bell,  and  yet  was  what  he  heard  so  often 
sounding  in  the  Chimes.  For  all  this  Toby  scouted 
with  indignation  a  certain  flying  rumor  that  the 
Chimes  were  haunted,  as  implying  the  possibility 
of  their  being  connected  with  any  Evil  thing.  In 
short,  they  were  very  often  in  his  ears,  and  very 
often  in  his  thoughts,  but  always  in  his  good 
opinion  ;  and  he  very  often  got  such  a  crick  in  his 
neck  by  staring  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  at  the 
steeple  where  they  hung,  that  he  was  fain  to  take 
an  extra  trot  or  two,  afterward,  to  cure  it. 

The  very  thing  he  was  in  the  act  of  doing  one 
cold  day,  when  the  last  drowsy  sound  of  Twelve 
o'clock,  just  struck,  was  humming  like  a  melodious 
monster  of  a  Bee,  and  not  by  any  means  a  busy 
Bee,  all  through  the  steeple  ? 

"  Dinner  time,  eh  !  "  said  Toby,  trotting  up  and 
down  before  the  church.     ' '  Ah ! ' ' 

Toby's  nose  was  very  red,  and  his  eyelids  were 
very  red,  and  he  winked  very  much,  and  his 
shoulders  were  very  near  his  ears,  and  his  legs 
were  very  stiff,  and  altogether  he  was  evidently  a 
long  way  upon  the  frosty  side  of  cool. 

"Dinner  time,  eh!"  repeated  Toby,  using  his 
right  hand  muffler  like  an  infantine  boxing-glove, 
and  punishing  his  chest  for  being  cold.  "Ah- 
h-h-h  I " 


110  Chi^tmas  Tales. 

He  took  a  silent  trot,  after  that,  for  a  minute  or 
two. 

"  There's  nothing,"  said  Tob}',  "  more  regular  in 
its  coming  round  than  dinner  time,  and  nothing 
less  regular  in  its  coming  round  than  dinner. 
That's  the  great  difference  between  'em.  It's  took 
me  a  long  time  to  find  it  out.  I  wonder  whether 
it  would  be  worth  any  gentleman's  while,  now,  to 
buy  that  obserwation  for  the  Papers  ;  or  the  Parlia- 
ment ! " 

Tony  was  only  joking,  for  he  gravely  shook  his 
head  in  self-depreciation. 

"Why  !  Lord  !  ' '  said  Toby.  "  The  Papers  is  full 
of  obserwations  as  it  is  ;  and  so's  the  Parliament. 
Here's  last  week's  paper,  now;"  taking  a  very 
dirty  one  from  his  pocket,  and  holding  it  from 
him  at  arm's  length  ;  "  full  of  obserwations!  Full 
of  obserwations  !  I  like  to  know  the  news  as  well 
as  any  man,"  said  Toby,  slowly  ;  folding  it  a  little 
smaller,  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket  again:  "but 
it  almost  goes  against  the  grain  with  me  to  read  a 
paper  now.  It  frightens  me  almost.  I  don't  know 
what  we  poor  people  are  coming  to.  Lord  send 
we  may  be  coming  to  something  better  in  the  New 
Year  nigh  upon  us  !  " 

"Why,  father,  father!"  said  a  pleasant  voice, 
hard  by. 

But  Toby,  not  hearing  it  continued  to  trot  back- 
ward and  forward  :  musing  as  he  went,  and  talking 
to  himself, 

"  It  seems  as  if  we  can't  go  right,  or  do  right,  or 
be  righted,"  said  Toby.  *'  I  hadn't  much  schooling, 
myself,  when  I  was  young  ;  and  I  can't  make  out 
whether  we  have  any  business  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  or  not.  Sometimes  I  think  we  must  have — 
a  little  ;  and  sometimes  I  think  we  must  be  intrud- 
ing. I  get  so  puzzled  sometimes  that  I  am  not 
even  able  to  make  up  my  mind  whether  there  is 
anj  good  at  all  in  us,  or  whether  we  are  born  bad. 


The  Chimes.  Ill 

We  seem  to  do  dreadful  things  ;  we  seem  to  give  a 
deal  of  trouble  ;  we  are  always  being  complained 
of  and  guarded  against.  One  way  or  another,  we  fill 
the  papers.  Talk  of  a  New  Year  !"  said  Toby, 
mournfully.  "I  can  bear  up  as  well  as  another 
man  at  most  times  ;  better  than  a  good  many,  for 
I  am  as  strong  as  a  lion,  and  all  men  an't ;  but 
supposing  it  should  really  be  that  we  have  no  right 
to  a  New  Year — supposing  we  really  are  intruding 
)> 

"Why,  father,  father!  "  said  the  pleasant  voice 
again. 

Toby  heard  it  this  time  ;  started  ;  stopped  ;  and 
shortening  his  sight,  which  had  been  directed  a 
long  way  off  as  seeking  for  enlightenment  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  approaching  year,  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  his  own  child,  and  looking  close 
into  her  eyes. 

Bright  eyes  they  were.  Eyes  that  would  bear  a 
world  of  looking  in,  before  their  depth  was 
fathomed.  Dark  eyes,  that  reflected  back  the  eyes 
which  searched  them  ;  not  flashmgly  or  at  the 
owner's  will,  but  with  a  clear,  calm,  honest, 
patient  radiance,  claiming  kindred  with  that  light 
which  Heaven  called  into  being.  Eyes  that  were 
beautiful  and  true,  and  beaming  with  Hope.  With 
Hope  so  young  and  fresh  ;  with  Hope  so  buoyant, 
vigorous  and  bright,  despite  the  twenty  years  of 
work  and  poverty  on  which  they  had  looked ;  that 
they  became  a  voice  to  Trotty  Veck,  and  said  :  "I 
think  we  have  some  business  here — a  little  !  " 

Trotty  kissed  the  lips  belonging  to  the  eyes,  and 
squeezed  the  blooming  face  between  his  hands. 

"Why,  Pet,"  said  Trotty.  "What's  to-do?  I 
didn't  expect  you,  to-day,  Meg." 

"Neither  did  I  expect  to  come,  father,"  cried 
the  girl,  nodding  her  head  and  smiling  as  she 
spoke.  "  But  here  I  am  !  And  not  alone  ;  not 
alone !  " 


112  Christmas  Tales. 

"Why  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  observed  Trotty, 
looking  curiously  at  a  covered  basket  which  she 
carried  in  her  hand,  "that  you " 

•'  Smell  it,  father  dear,"  said  Meg,  "  Only  smell 
it!" 

Trotty  was  going  to  lift  up  the  cover  at  once,  in 
a  great  hurry,  when  she  gayly  interposed  her  hand. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  said  Meg,  with  the  glee  of  a  child. 
'  *  Lengthen  it  out  a  little.  Let  me  just  lift  up  the 
corner;  just  the  lit-tle  ti-ny  cor-ner,  you  know," 
said  Meg,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word  with  the 
utmost  gentleness,  and  speaking  very  softl5%  as 
if  she  were  afraid  of  being  overheard  by  some- 
thing inside  the  basket;  "there.  Now.  What's 
that !  " 

Toby  took  the  shortest  possible  sniff  at  the  edge 
of  the  basket,  and  cried  out  in  a  rapture  : 

"Why,  it's  hot!" 

"  It  is  burning  hot !  "  cried  Meg.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  I 
It's  scalding  hot !  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  roared  Toby,  with  a  sort  of  kick. 
"  It's  scalding  hot!" 

"But  what  is  it  father ?"  said  Meg.  "Come! 
you  haven't  guessed  what  it  is.  And  you  must 
guess  what  it  is.  I  can't  think  of  taking  it  out 
till  you  guess  what  it  is.  Don't  be  in  such  a 
hurry  !  Wait  a  minute  !  A  little  bit  more  of  the 
cover.     Now  guess  !  " 

Meg  was  in  a  perfect  fright  lest  he  should  guess 
right  too  soon  ;  shrinking  away,  as  she  held  the 
basket  toward  him  ;  curling  up  her  pretty  shoul- 
ders ;  stopping  her  ear  with  her  hand,  as  if  by  so 
doing  she  could  keep  the  right  word  out  of  Toby's 
lips  ;  and  laughing  softly  the  whole  time. 

Meanwhile  Toby,  putting  a  hand  on  each  knee, 
bent  down  his  nose  to  the  basket,  and  took  a  long 
inspiration  at  the  lid  ;  the  grin  upon  his  withered 
face  expanded  in  the  process,  as  if  he  were  inhal- 
ing laughing  gas. 


The  Chimes.  113 

"Ah  !  It's  very  nice,"  said  Toby.  "  It  ain't— I 
suppose  it  ain't  Polonies  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  cried  Meg,  delighted.  "  Noth- 
ing like  Polonies  ! " 

"No,"  said  Toby,  after  another  sniff.  * '  It's- - 
it's  mellower  than  Polonies.  It's  very  nice.  It  im- 
proves every  moment.  It's  too  decided  few- 
Trotters.     Ain't  it?" 

Meg  was  in  ecstasy.  He  could  not  have  gone 
wider  of  the  mark  than  Trotters — except  Polonies. 

"  I/iver?  "  said  Toby,  communing  with  himself. 
*'  No.  There's  a  mildness  about  it  that  don't  an- 
swer to  liver.  Pettitoes?  No.  It  an't  faint 
enough  for  pettitoeg.  It  wants  the  stringiness  of 
Cocks'  heads.  And  I  know  it  an't  sausages.  I'll 
tell   you  what  it  is.     It's  chitterlings  !  " 

"No,  it  an't !  "  cried  Meg,  in  a  burst  of  delight 
"No,  it  an't!" 

"Why,  what  am  I  a  thinking  of!"  said 
Toby,  suddenly  recovering  a  position  as  near  the 
perpendicular  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  as- 
sume. "  I  shall  forget  my  own  name  next  It's 
tripe!" 

Tripe  it  was  ;  and  Meg,  in  high  joy,  protested 
he  should  say,  in  half  a  minute  more,  it  was  the 
best  tripe  ever  stewed. 

"And  so,"  said  Meg,  busying  herself  exultingly 
with  her  basket ;  "I'll  lay  the  cloth  at  once,  fath- 
er ;  for  I  have  brought  the  tripe  in  a  basin,  and 
tied  the  basin  up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief;  and 
if  I  like  to  be  proud  for  once,  and  spread  that  for  a 
cloth,  and  call  it  a  cloth,  there's  no  law  to  prevent 
me  ;  is  there  faiher?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  my  dear,"  said  Toby. 
"But  they're  always  a  bringing  up  some  new  law 
or  other." 

"And  according  to  what  I  was  reading  you  in 
the  paper  the  other  day,  father  ;  what  the  Judge 
said,  you  know  ;  we  poor  people  are  supposed  to 


114  Christmas  Tales. 

know  them  all.  Ha,  ha  !  What  a  mistake  !  My 
goodness  me,  how  clever  they  think  us  !  " 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  cried  Trotty  ;  "  and  they'd  be 
very  fond  of  any  one  of  us  that  did  know  'em  all. 
He'd  grow  fat  upon  the  work  he'd  get,  that  man, 
and  be  popular  with  the  gentlefolks  in  his  neigh- 
borhood.    Very  much  so  !  " 

**  He'd  eat  his  dinner  with  an  appetite,  whoever 
he  was,  if  it  smelt  like  this,"  said  Meg,  cheerfully. 
"  Make  haste,  for  there's  a  potato  besides.  Where 
will  you  dine,  father?  On  the  Post,  or  on  the 
Steps?  Dear,  dear,  how  grand  we  are.  Two 
places  to  choose  from  !  " 

"The  steps  to  day,  my  Pet,"  said  Trotty. 
"Steps  in  dry  weather.  Post  in  wet.  There's  a 
great  conveniency  in  the  steps  at  all  times,  because 
of  the  sitting  down  ;  but  they're  rheumatic  in  the 
damp." 

"Then  here,"  said  Meg,  clapping  her  hands, 
after  a  moment's  bustle;  "here  it  is,  all  ready! 
And  beautiful  it  looks  !  Come,  father.  Eat  it 
while  it's  hot.     Come  !  " 

Since  his  discovery  of  the  contents  of  the  basket, 
Trotty  had  been  standing  looking  at  her — and  had 
been  speaking  too — in  an  abstracted  manner, 
which  showed  that  though  she  was  the  object  of 
his  thoughts  and  eyes,  to  the  exclusion  even  of 
tripe,  he  neither  saw  nor  thought  about  her  as  she 
was  at  that  moment,  but  had  before  him  some  im- 
aginary rough  sketch  or  drama  of  her  future  life. 
Roused,  now,  by  her  cheerful  summons,  he  shook 
off  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head  which  was  just 
coming  upon  him,  and  trotted  to  her  side.  As  he 
was  stooping  to  sit  down,  the  Chimes  rang. 

"Amen  !  "  said  Trotty,  pulling  off  his  hat  and 
looking  up  toward  them. 

"Amen  to  the  Bells,  father?  "  cried  Meg. 

"They  broke  in  like  a  grace,  my  dear,"  said 
Trotty,  taking  his  seat.     "  They'd  say  a  good  one, 


The  Chimes.  115 

I  am  sure,  if  the}' could.  Many 's  the  kind  thing 
they  say  to  me." 

"The  Bells  do,  father  !  "  laughed  Meg,  as  she 
set  the  basin,  and  a  knife  and  fork  before  him. 
"Well!" 

"Seem  to,  my  Pet,"  said  Trotty,  falling  to  with 
great  vigor.  "And  where's  the  difference  ?  If  I 
hear  'em,  what  does  it  matter  whether  they  speak 
it  or  not?  Why  bless  you,  my  dear, "  said  Toby, 
pointing  at  the  tower  with  his  fork,  and  becoming 
more  animated  under  the  influence  of  dinner, 
"  how  often  have  I  heard  them  bells  say,  'Toby 
Veck,  Toby  Veck,  keep  a  good  heart  Toby  !  Tobj- 
Veck,  Toby  Veck,  keep  a  good  heart  Toby  !  *  A 
million  times?     IMore  !  " 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  cried  Meg. 

She  had,  though — over  and  over  again.  For  it 
was  Toby's  constant  topic. 

"  When  things  is  very  bad,"  said  Trotty  ;  "very 
bad  indeed,  I  mean  ;  almost  at  the  worst ;  then 
it's  '  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  job  coming  soon, 
Toby!  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  job  coming  soon 
Toby!'     That  way." 

"And  it  comes— at  last,  father,"  said  Meg,  with 
a  touch  of  sadness  in  her  pleasant  voice. 

"Alwavs,"  answered  the  unconscious  Tobv. 
"Never  fails." 

While  this  discourse  was  holding,  Trotty  made 
no  pause  in  his  attack  upon  the  savory  meat  before 
him,  but  cut  and  ate,  and  cut  and  drank,  and  cut 
and  chewed,  and  dodged  about,  from  tripe  to  hot 
potato,  and  from  hot  potato  back  again  to  tripe, 
with  an  unctuous  and  unflagging  relish.  But  hap- 
pening now  to  look  all  round  the  street — in  case 
anybody  should  be  beckoning  from  any  door  or 
window,  for  a  porter — his  eyes,  in  coming  back 
again,  encountered  INIeg  :  sitting  opposite  to  him, 
with  her  arms  folded  ;  and  only  busy  in  watching 
his  progress  with  a  smile  of  happiness. 


116  Christmas  Tales. 

•'Why,  Lord  forgive  me  !  "  said  Trotty,  drop- 
ping his  knife  and  fork.  "  My  love  !  Meg!  why 
didn't  vou  tell  me  what  a  beast  I  was  ?  " 

**  Father?" 

'*  Sitting  here,"  said  Trotty,  in  penitent  expla- 
nation, "cramming  and  stuffing,  and  gorging  my- 
self; and  you  before  me  there,  never  so  much  as 
breaking  your  precious  fast,  nor  wanting  to,  when 


"But  I  have  broken  it,  father,"  interposed  his 
daughter,  laughing,  * '  all  to  bits.  I  have  had  my 
dinner," 

"Nonsense,"  said  Trotty.  ''Two  dinners  in  one 
day  !  It  an't  possible  !  You  might  as  well  tell 
me  that  two  New  Year's  Days  will  come  together, 
or  that  I  have  had  a  gold  head  all  my  life,  and 
never  changed  it." 

"I  have  had  my  dinner,  father,  for  all  that." 
said  Meg,  coming  nearer  to  him.  "And  if  you'll 
go  on  with  yours,  I'll  tell  you  how  and  where  ; 
and  how  your  dinner  came  to  be  brought ;  and — 
something  else  besides." 

Toby  still  appeared  incredulous  ;  but  she  looked 
into  his  face  with  her  clear  eyes,  and  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  motioned  him  to  go  on 
while  the  meat  was  hot.  So  Trotty  took  up  his 
knife  and  fork  again,  and  went  to  work.  But  much 
more  slowly  than  before,  and  shaking  his  head,  as 
if  he  were  not  at  all  pleased  with  himself 

"I  had  my  dinner,  father,"  said  Meg,  after  a 
little  hesitation,  "with — with  Richard,  His  din- 
ner-time was  early  ;  and  as  he  brought  his  dinne^ 
with  him  when  he  came  to  see  me,  we — we  had 
it  together,  father," 

Trotty  said,  "Oh  !  " — because  she  waited. 

"And  Richard  says,  father—"  Meg  resumed. 
Then  stopped. 

"  What  does  Richard  say,  Meg  ?  "  asked  Toby, 

"  Richard  says,  father — "     Another  stoppage. 


The  Chimes.  117 

"Richard's  a  long  time  saying  it,"  said  Toby. 

"He  says  then,  father,"  Meg  continued,  lifting 
up  her  eyes  at  last,  and  speaking  in  a  tremble,  but 
quite  plainly  ;  "another  year  is  nearly  gone,  and 
where  is  the  use  of  waiting  on  from  year  to  3'ear, 
when  it  is  so  unlikely  we  shall  ever  be  better  off 
than  we  are  now  ?  He  says  we  are  poor  now,  father, 
and  we  shall  be  poor  then,  but  we  are  young  now, 
and  years  will  make  us  old  before  we  know  it.  He 
says  that  if  we  wait,  people  in  our  condition,  un- 
til we  see  our  way  quite  clearly,  the  way  will  be  a 
narrow  one  indeed— the  common  way — the  Grave, 
father." 

A  bolder  man  than  Trotty  Veck  must  needs  have 
drawn  upon  his  boldness  largely,  to  deny  it. 
Trotty  held  his  peace. 

"  And  how  hard,  father,  to  grow  old  and  die, 
and  think  we  might  have  cheered  and  helped  each 
other  !  How  hard  in  all  our  lives  to  love  each 
other ;  and  to  grieve,  apart,  to  see  each  other  work- 
ing, changing,  growing  old  and  gray.  Even  if  I 
got  the  better  of  it,  and  forgot  him  (which  I  never 
could),  oh,  father  dear,  how  hard  to  have  a  heart 
so  full  as  mine  is  now,  and  live  to  have  it  slowly 
drained  out  every  drop,  without  the  recollection  of 
one  happy  moment  of  a  woman's  life,  to  stay 
behind  and  comfort  me,  and  make  me  better  !  " 

Trotty  sat  quite  still.  Meg  dried  her  eyes,  and 
said  more  gayly  :  that  is  to  say,  with  here  a  laugh, 
and  there  a  sob,  and  here  a  laugh  and  sob  together: 

"So  Richard  says,  father  ;  as  his  work  was  yes- 
terday made  certain  for  some  time  to  come,  and  as 
I  love  him  and  have  loved  him  fully  three  years — 
ah  !  longer  than  that,  if  he  knew  it ! — will  I  marry 
him  on  New  Year's  Day  ;  the  best  and  happiest 
day,  he  says,  in  the  whole  year,  and  one  that  is 
almost  sure  to  bring  good  fortune  with  it.  It's  a 
short  notice,  father — isn't  it? — but  I  haven't  my 
fortune  to  be  settled,  or  my  wedding  dresses  to  be 


118  Christmas  Tales. 

made,  like  the  great  ladies,  father,  have  I  ?  And 
he  said  so  much,  and  said  it  in  his  way  ;  so  strong 
and  earnest,  and  all  the  time  so  kind  and  gentle ; 
that  I  said  I'd  come  and  talk  to  you,  father.  And 
as  they  paid  the  money  for  that  work  of  mine  this 
morning  (unexpectedly,  I  am  sure  !  ),  and  as  you 
have  fared  very  poorly  for  a  whole  week,  and  as  I 
couldn't  help  wishing  there  should  be  something 
to  make  this  day  a  sort  of  holiday  to  you  as  well 
as  a  dear  and  happy  day  to  me,  father,  I  made  a 
little  treat  and  brouj^ht  it  to  surprise  you." 

"  And  see  how  he  leaves  it  cooling  on  the  step  !  " 
said  another  voice. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  same  Richard,  who  had 
come  upon  them  unobserved,  aid  stood  before  the 
father  and  daughter ;  looking  down  upon  them 
with  a  face  as  glowing  as  the.  iron  on  which  his 
stout  sledge-hammer  daily  rung.  A  handsome, 
well-made,  powerful  youngster  he  was ;  with  eyes 
that  sparkled  like  the  red-hot  droppings  from  a 
furnace  fire ;  black  hair  that  curled  about  his 
swarthy  temples  rarely;  and  a  smile — a  smile  that 
bore  out  Meg's  eulogium  on  his  style  of  conversa- 
tion. 

"See  how  he  leaves  it  cooling  on  the  step!" 
said  Richard.  "Meg  don't  know  what  he  likes. 
Not  she!" 

Trotty,  all  action  and  enthusiasm,  immediately 
reached  up  his  hand  to  Richard,  and  was  going  to 
address  him  in  a  great  hurry,  when  the  house-door 
opened  without  any  warning,  and  a  footman  very 
nearly  put  his  foot  in  the  tripe. 

"Out  of  the  vays  here,  will  you!  You  must 
always  go  and  be  a-settin  on  our  steps,  must  you! 
You  can't  go  and  give  a  turn  to  none  of  the  neigh- 
bors never,  can't  you  ?  IVill  you  clear  the  road,  or 
won't  you  ?  " 

Strictly  speaking,  the  last  question  was  irrele- 
vant, as  they  had  already  done  it. 


The  Chimes.  119 

•'What's  the  matter,  what's  the  matter ?"  said 
the  gentleman  for  whom  the  door  was  opened ; 
coming  out  of  the  house  at  that  kind  of  light, 
heavy  pace— that  peculiar  compromise  between  a 
walk  and  jog-trot — with  which  a  gentleman  upon 
the  smooth  down-hill  of  life,  wearing  creaking 
boots,  a  watch-chain,  and  clean  linen,  may  come 
out  of  his  house  :  not  only  without  any  abatement 
of  his  dignity,  but  with  an  expression  of  having 
important  and  wealthy  engagements  elsewhere. 
"  What's  the  matter?    What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"You're  always  a-being  begged,  and  prayed, 
upon  your  bended  knees,  you  are,"  said  the  foot- 
man with  great  emphasis  to  Trotty  Veck,  "to  let 
our  door-steps  be.  Why  don't  you  let  'em  be? 
Cant  you  let  'em  be?  " 

"  There  !  That'll  do,  that'll  do  !  "  said  the  gen- 
tleman. "Halloa  there!  Porter!"  beckoning 
with  his  head  to  Trotty  Veck.  "Come  here. 
What's  that  ?     Your  dinner  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Trotty,  leaving  it  behind  him  in 
a  corner. 

"Don't  leave  it  there  !  "  exclaimed  the  gentle- 
man. "Bring  it  here,  bring  it  here  !  So  !  this  is 
your  dinner,  is  it?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  repeated  Trotty,  looking  with  a 
fixed  eye  and  a  watery  mouth  at  the  piece  of  tripe 
he  had  reserved  for  a  last  delicious  tit-bit,  which 
the  gentleman  was  now  turning  over  and  over  on 
the  end  of  a  fork. 

Two  other  gentlemen  had  come  out  with  him. 
One  was  a  low-spirited  gentleman  of  middle  age,  of 
a  meagre  habit,  and  a  disconsolate  face  ;  who  kept 
his  hands  continually  in  the  pockets  of  his  scanty 
pepper-and-salt  trousers,  very  large  and  dog's-eared 
from  that  custom  ;  and  was  not  particularly  well 
brushed  or  washed.  The  other,  a  full-sized,  sleek, 
well-conditioned  gentleman,  in  a  blue  coat,  with 
bright  buttons,  and  a  white  cravat.     This  gentle- 


120  Christmas  Tales. 

man  had  a  very  red  face,  as  if  an  undue  proportion 
of  the  blood  in  his  body  were  squeezed  up  into  his 
head,  which  perhaps  accounted  for  his  having  also 
the  appearance  of  being  rather  cold  about  the 
heart. 

He  who  had  Toby's  meat  upon  the  fork  called 
to  the  first  one  by  the  name  of  Filer,  and  they 
both  drew  near  together.  Mr.  Filer  being  exceed- 
ingly short  sighted,  was  obliged  to  go  so  close  to 
the  remnant  of  Toby's  dinner  before  he  could  make 
out  what  it  was,  that  Toby's  heart  leaped  up  into 
his  mouth.     But  Mr.  F'iler  didn't  eat  it. 

"This  is  a  description  of  animal  food,  Alder- 
man," said  Filer,  making  little  punches  in  it  with 
a  pencil-case,  *'  commonly  known  to  the  laboring 
population  of  this  country  by  the  name  of  tripe." 

The  Alderman  laughed,  and  winked  ;  for  he  was 
a  merry  fellow.  Alderman  Cute.  Oh,  and  a  sly 
fellow  too  !  A  knowing  fellow.  Up  to  everything. 
Not  to  be  imposed  upon.  Deep  in  the  people's 
hearts  !    He  knew  them.  Cute  did.    I  believe  you  ! 

"But  who  eats  tripe?"  said  Mr.  Filer,  looking 
round.  "  Tripe  is  without  an  exception  the  least 
economical,  and  the  most  wasteful  article  of  con- 
sumption that  the  markets  of  this  country  can  by 
possibility  produce.  The  loss  upon  a  pound  of 
tripe  has  been  found  to  be,  in  the  boiling,  seven- 
eighths  of  a  fifth  more  than  the  loss  upon  a  pound 
of  any  other  animal  substance  whatever.  Tripe  is 
more  expensive,  properly  understood,  than  the 
hot-house  pine-apple.  Taking  into  account  the 
number  of  animals  slaughtered  yearly  within  the 
bills  of  mortality  alone  ;  and  forming  a  low  esti- 
mate of  the  quantity  of  tripe  which  the  carcases  of 
these  animals,  reasonably  well  butchered,  would 
yield — I  find  that  the  waste  on  that  amount  of  tripe, 
if  boiled,  would  victual  a  garrison  of  five  hundred 
men  lor  five  months  of  thirty-one  days  each,  and  a 
February  over.     The  Waste,  the  Waste  !  " 


The  Chimes,  121 

Trotty  stood  aghast,  and  his  legs  shook  under 
him.  He  seemed  to  have  starved  a  garrison  of 
five  hundred  men  with  his  own  hand. 

•'Who  eats  tripe?"  said  Mr.  Filer,  warmly. 
"Who  eats  tripe?" 

Trotty  made  a  miserable  bow. 

•♦  You  do,  do  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Filer.  "  Then  I'll 
tell  you  something.  You  snatch  your  tripe,  my 
friend,  out  of  the  mouths  of  widows  and  orphans." 

"I  hope  not,  sir,"  said  Trotty,  faintly.  "I'd 
sooner  die  of  want !  " 

"  Di\dde  the  amount  of  tripe  before- mentioned. 
Alderman,"  said  Mr.  Filer,  "by  the  estimated 
number  of  existing  widows  and  orphans,  and  the 
result  will  be  one  pennyweight  of  tripe  to  each. 
Not  a  grain  is  left  for  that  man.  Consequently, 
he's  a  robber." 

Trotty  was  so  shocked  that  it  gave  him  no 
concern  to  see  the  Alderman  finish  the  tripe  him- 
self.    It  was  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  it,  anyhow. 

"And  what  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  Alderman, 
jocosely,  of  the  red-faced  gentleman  in  the  blue 
coat.  "You  have  heard  friend  Filer.  What  do 
you  say?  " 

"What's  it  possible  to  say?"  returned  the  gen- 
tleman. "  What  is  to  be  said  ?  Who  can  take  any 
interest  in  a  fellow  like  this,"  meaning  Trotty, 
"  in  such  degenerate  times  as  these  ?  Look  at  him  I 
What  an  object !  The  good  old  times,  the  grand 
old  times,  the  great  old  times  !  Those  were  the 
times  for  a  bold  peasantry,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Those  were  the  times  for  every  sort  of 
thing,  in  fact.  There's  nothing  now-a-days.  Ah  !  " 
sighed  the  red-faced  gentleman.  "The  good  old 
times,  the  good  old  times  !  " 

It  is  possible  that  poor  Trotty's  faith  in  these  very 
vague  Old  Times  was  not  entirely  destroyed,^  for 
he  felt  vague  enough,  at  that  moment.  One  thing, 
however,  was  plain  to  him,   in   the  midst  of  his 


122  Christmas  Tales. 

distress ;  to  wit,  that  however  these  gentlemen 
might  differ  ia  details,  his  misgivings  of  that  morn- 
ing, and  of  many  other  mornings,  were  well 
founded.  *'No,  no.  We  can't  go  right  or  do 
right, "  thought  Trotty  in  despair.  "There  is  no 
good  in  us.     We  are  born  bad  !  " 

But  Trotty  had  a  father's  heart  within  him ; 
which  had  somehow  got  into  his  breast  in  spite  of 
this  decree  ;  and  he  could  not  bear  that  Meg,  in 
the  blush  of  her  brief  jo}',  should  have  her  fortune 
read  by  these  wise  gentlemen.  "  God  help  her," 
thought  poor  Trotty.  "  She  will  know  it  soon 
enough." 

He  anxiously  signed,  therefore,  to  the  young 
smith,  to  take  her  away.  But  he  v.as  so  busy, 
talking  to  her  softly  at  a  little  distance,  that  he 
only  became  conscious  of  this  desire,  simulta- 
neously with  Alderman  Cute.  Now,  the  Alderman 
had  not  yet  had  his  say,  but  he  was  a  philosopher, 
too — practical  though  I  Oh,  very  practical !—  and, 
as  he  had  no  idea  of  losing  any  portion  of  his  audi- 
ence, he  cried  "Stop  !  " 

Trotty  took  Meg's  hand  and  drew  it  through  his 
arm.  He  didn't  seem  to  know  what  he  was  doing 
though. 

"Your  daughter,  eh?"  said  the  Alderman, 
chucking  her  familiarly  under  the  chin. 

* '  And  you're  making  love  to  her,  are  you  ?  ' '  said 
Cute  to  the  young  smith. 

"Yes,"  returned  Richard  quickly,  for  he  was 
nettled  by  the  question.  "  And  we  are  going  to  be 
married  on  New  Year's  Day." 

* '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' '  cried  Filer  sharply. 
"Married!" 

"Why,  yes,  we  were  thinking  of  it.  Master," 
said  Richard.  "We're  rather  in  a  hurry  you  see, 
in  case  it  should  be  Put  Down  first." 

"  Ah  ! '^  cried  Filer,  with  a  groan.  "Put  that 
down  indeed.  Alderman,  and  you'll  do  something. 


The  ChiTP.es.  123 

Married  !  Married  !  !  The  ignorance  of  the  first 
principles  of  political  economy  on  the  part  of  these 
people  ;  their  improvidence  ;  their  Vv4ckedness  is  by 
Heavens !  enough  to — Now  look  at  that  couple, 
will  you  !  " 

Well !  They  were  worth  looking  at.  And  mar- 
riage seemed  as  reasonable  and  fair  a  deed  as  they 
need  have  in  contemplation. 

"A  man  may  live  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah," 
said  Mr.  Filer,  "and  may  labor  all  his  life  for  the 
benefit  of  such  people  as  those;  and  may  heap 
up  facts  on  figures,  facts  on  figures,  facts  on  figures, 
mountains  high  and  dry  ;  and  he  can  no  more 
hope  to  persuade  'em  that  they  have  no  right  or 
business  to  be  married  than  he  can  hope  to  per- 
suade 'em  that  they  have  no  earthly  right  or  busi- 
ness to  be  born.  And  that  we  know  they  haven't. 
We  reduced  that  to  a  mathematical  certainty  long 
ago!" 

"Come  here,  my  girl  !  "  said  Alderman  Cute. 

The  young  blood  of  her  lover  had  been  mount- 
ing, wrathfully,  within  the  last  few  minutes ;  and 
he  was  indisposed  to  let  her  come.  But,  setting  a 
constraint  upon  himself,  he  came  forward  with  a 
stride  as  Meg  approached  and  stood  beside  her. 
Trotty  kept  her  hand  within  his  arm  still,  but 
looked  from  face  to  face  as  wildly  as  a  sleeper  in  a 
dream. 

"Now,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  word  or  two  of 
good  advice,  my  girl,"  said  the  Alderman,  in  his 
nice  easy  way.  "It's  my  place  to  give  advice,  you 
know,  because  I'm  a  justice.  You  know  I'm  a 
Justice,  don't  you?  " 

Meg  timidly  said,  "Yes."  But  everybody  knew 
Alderman  Cute  was  a  Justice  !  Oh  dear,  so  active 
a  Justice  always  !  Who  such  a  mote  of  brightness 
in  the  public  eye,  as  Cute  ! 

"You  are  going  to  be  married,  you  say,"  pur- 
sued   the    Alderman.       "Very    unbecoming    and 


124  Christmas  Tales. 

indelicate  in  one  of  your  sex  !  But  never  mind 
that.  After  j'ou're  njarried,  you'll  quarrel  with 
your  husband,  and  come  to  be  a  distressed  wife. 
You  may  think  not;  but  you  will,  because  I  tell 
you  so.  Now,  I  give  you  fair  warning,  that  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  Put  distressed  wives  Down. 
So,  don't  be  brought  before  me.  You'll  have  chil- 
dren—boys. Tho^e  bo3-s  will  grow  up  bad,  of 
course,  and  run  wild  in  the  streets  without  shoes  or 
stockings.  Mind,  my  young  friend  !  I'Uconvict'em 
summarily  every  one,  for  I  am  determined  to  Put 
boys  without  shoes  or  stockings,  Down.  Perhaps 
your  husband  will  die  young  (most  likely)  and 
leave  you  with  a  baby.  Then  you'll  be  turned  out 
of  doors,  and  wander  up  and  down  the  streets. 
Now  don't  wander  near  me,  my  dear,  for  I  am  re- 
solved to  Put  all  wandering  mothers  Down.  All 
young  mothers,  of  all  sorts  and  kinds,  it's  my  de- 
termination to  Put  Down.  Don't  think  to  plead 
illness  as  an  excuse  with  me ;  or  babies  as  an 
excuse  with  me  ;  for  all  sick  persons  and  young  chil- 
dren (I  hope  you  know  the  church-service,  but  I'm 
afraid  not)  I  am  determined  to  Put  Down.  And  if 
you  attempt,  desperately  and  ungratefully,  and 
impiously,  and  fraudulently  attempt,  to  drown 
yourself,  or  hang  yourself,  I'll  have  no  pity  on 
you,  for  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  Put  all  suicide 
Down!  If  there  is  one  thing,"  said  the  Alderman, 
with  his  self-satisfied  smile,  "on  which  I  can  be 
said  to  have  made  up  my  mind  more  than  on  an- 
other, it  is  to  Put  suicide  Down.  So  don't  try 
it  on.  That's  the  phrase,  isn't  it !  Ha,  ha  !  now 
we  understand  each  other. " 

Toby  knew  not  whether  to  be  agonized  or  glad, 
to  see  that  Meg  had  turned  deadly  white,  and 
dropped  her  lover's  hand. 

•'As  for  you,  you  dull  dog,"  said  the  Alderman, 
turning  with  even  increased  cheerfulness  and  ur- 
banity to  the  young  smith,  "  what  are  you  thinking 


The  Chimes.     ■  125 

of  being  married  for?  What  do  yon  want  to  be 
married  for,  you  silly  fellow?  If  I  was  a  fine, 
young,  strapping  chap  like  you,  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  being  milksop  enough  to  pin  myself  to 
a  woman's  apron-strings  !  Why,  she'll  be  an  old 
woman  before  you're  a  middle-aged  m.au  !  And  a 
pretty  figure  you'll  cut  then,  with  a  draggle-tailed 
wife  and  a  crowd  of  squalling  children  crying 
after  you  wherever  you  go  !  " 

Oh,  he  knew  how  to  banter  the  common  people, 
Alderman  Cute  ! 

"There!  Go  along  with  you,"  said  the  Alder- 
man, "and  repent.  Don't  make  such  a  fool  of 
yourself  as  to  get  married  on  New  Year's  Day. 
You'll  think  very  differently  of  it,  long  before  next 
New  Year's  Day :  a  trim  young  fellow  like  you, 
with  all  the  girls  looking  after  you.  There!  Go 
along  with  you  !  " 

They  went  along.  Not  arm  in  arm,  or  hand  in 
hand,  or  interchanging  bright  glances;  but  she  in 
tears ;  he  gloomy  and  down-looking.  Were  these 
the  hearts  that  had  so  lately  made  old  Toby's  leap 
up  from  its  faintness  ?  No,  no.  The  Alderman  (a 
blessing  on  his  head  !)  had  Put  them  Down. 

"As  you  happen  to  be  here,"  said  the  Alderman 
to  Toby,  "you  shall  carry  a  letter  for  me.  Can 
you  be  quick?     You're  an  old  man." 

Toby,  who  had  been  looking  after  Meg,  quite 
stupidly,  made  shift  to  murmur  out  that  he  was 
very  quick,  and  very  strong. 

"How  old  are  you?  "  inquired  the  Alderman. 

"  I  am  over  sixty,  sir,"  said  Toby. 

"  Oh  !  This  man's  a  great  deal  past  the  average 
age,  you  know,"  cried  Mr.  Filer,  breaking  in  as  if 
his  patience  would  bear  some  trying,  but  this  was 
really  carr>'ing  matters  a  little  too  far. 

"I  feel  I'm  intruding,  sir,"  said  Toby.  "  I— I 
misdoubted  it  this  morning.     Oh  dear  me  !  " 

The  Alderman  cut  him  short  by  giving  him  the 


126  Christmas  Tales. 

letter  from  his  pocket.  Toby  would  have  got  a 
shilling  too  ;  but  Mr.  Filer  clearly  showing  that  in 
that  case  he  would  rob  a  certain  given  number  of 
persons  of  ninepence-half-penny  a-piece,  he  only 
got  sixpence ;  and  thought  himself  very  well  off 
to  get  that. 

Then  the  Alderman  gave  an  arm  to  each  of  his 
friends,  and  walked  off  in  high  feather  ;  but,  he 
immediately  came  hurrying  back  alone,  as  if  he 
had  forgotten  something. 

"Porter  !  "  said  the  Alderman. 

"Sir!"  said  Toby. 

• '  Take  care  of  that  daughter  of  yours.  She's 
much  too  handsome." 

"  Even  her  good  looks  are  stolen  from  somebody 
or  other  I  suppose,"  thought  Toby,  looking  at  the 
sixpence  in  his  hand,  and  thinking  of  the  tripe. 
"She's  been  and  robbed  five  hundred  ladies  of  a 
bloom  a-piece,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  It's  very 
dreadful  !  " 

"She's  much  too  handsome,  m}-^  man,"  repeated 
the  Alderman.  "  The  chances  are,  that  she'll  come 
to  no  good,  I  clearly  see.  Observe  what  I  say. 
Take  care  of  her  !  "  With  which,  he  hurried  off 
again. 

"  Wrong  every  way.  Wrong  every  wa}-  !  "  said 
Trott}^  clasping  his  hands.  "  Born  bad.  No  busi- 
ness here  !  " 

The  Chimes  came  clashing  in  upon  him  as  he 
said  the  last  words.  Full,  loud,  and  sounding — 
but  with  no  encouragement.     No,  not  a  drop. 

"The  tune's  changed,"  cried  the  old  man,  as  he 
listened.  "  There's  not  a  word  of  all  that  fancy  in 
it.  Why  should  there  be  ?  I  have  no  business 
with  the  New  Year  nor  with  the  old  one  neither. 
Let  me  die  !  " 

Still  the  Bells,  pealing  forth  their  changes,  made 
the  very  air  spin.  Put  'em  down,  Put  'em  down  ! 
Good  old  Times,    Good   old  Times !      Facts  and 


The  Chimes.  127 

Figures,  Facts  and  Figures  !  Put  'em  down,  Put 
'em  down  !  If  they  said  anything  they  said  this, 
until  the  braiu  of  Toby  reeled. 

He  pressed  his  bewildered  head  between  his 
hands  as  if  to  keep  it  from  splitting  asunder.  A 
well-timed  aclioii,  as  it  happened  ;  for  finding  the 
letter  in  one  of  them,  and  being  by  that  means  re- 
minded of  his  charge,  he  fell,  mechanically,  into 
his  usual  trot,  and  trotted  off. 


Second  Quarter. 

The  letter  Toby  had  received  from  Alderman 
Cute,  was  addressed  to  a  great  man  in  the  great 
district  of  the  town.  The  greatest  district  of  the 
town.  It  must  have  been  the  greatest  district  of 
the  town,  because  it  was  commonly  called  "the 
world  "  by  its  inhabitants. 

The  Year  was  Old,  that  day.  The  patient  Year 
had  lived  through  the  reproaches  and  misuses  of 
its  slanderers,  and  faithfully  performed  its  work. 
Spring,  summ^er,  autumn,  winter.  It  had  labored 
through  the  destined  round,  and  now  laid  down  its 
weary  head  to  die. 

Trotty  had  no  portion,  to  his  thinking,  in  the 
New  Year  or  the  Old. 

"Put  'em  down.  Put  'em  down!  P'acts  and 
Figures,  Facts  and  Figures !  Good  old  Times, 
Good  old  Times  !  Put  'em  down.  Put  'em  down  !  " 
— his  trot  went  to  that  measure,  and  would  fit 
itself  to  nothing  else. 

But,  even  that  one,  melancholy  as  it  was,  brought 
him,  in  due  time,  to  the  end  of  his  journey.  To 
the  mansion  of  Sir  Joseph  Bowley,  Member  of 
Parliament. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  Porter.  Such  a 
Porter!     Not  of   Toby's    order.      Quite    another 


128  Christmas  Tales. 

thing.  His  place  was  the  ticket,  though;  not 
Toby's. 

This  Porter  underwent  some  hard  panting  before 
he  could  speak ;  having  breathed  himself  by 
coming  incautiously  out  of  his  chair,  without  first 
taking  time  to  think  about  it  and  compose  his 
mind.  When  he  had  found  his  voice — which  it 
took  him  sometime  to  do,  for  it  was  a  long  way  off 
and  hidden  under  a  load  of  meat — he  said  in  a  fat 
whisper : 

"  Who's  it  from  ?  " 

Toby  told  him. 

*'  You're  to  take  it  in  yourself,"  said  the  Porter, 
pointing  to  a  room  at  the  end  of  a  long  passage, 
■opening  from  the  hall.  "  Everything  goes  straight 
in,  on  this  day  of  the  year.  You're  not  a  bit  too 
soon  ;  for  the  carriage  is  at  the  door  now,  and  they 
have  only  come  to  town  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
a'purpose." 

Toby  wiped  his  feet  (which  were  quite  diy  al- 
ready) with  great  care,  and  took  the  way  pointed 
out  to  him,  observing  as  he  went  that  it  was  an 
awfully  grand  house,  but  hushed  and  covered  up, 
as  if  the  family  were  in  the  country.  Knocking  at 
the  room  door,  he  was  told  to  enter  from  within  ; 
and  doing  so  found  himself  in  a  spacious  library, 
where,  at  a  table  strewn  with  files  and  papers,  were 
a  stately  lady  in  a  bonnet,  and  a  not  very  stately 
gentleman  in  black,  who  wrote  from  her  dictation  ; 
while  another,  and  an  older,  and  a  much  statelier 
gentleman,  whose  hat  and  cane  were  on  the  table, 
walked  up  and  down,  with  one  hand  in  his  breast, 
and  looked  complacently  from  time  to  time  at  his 
own  picture — a  full  length  ;  a  very  full  length — 
hanging  over  the  fire-place. 

''  What  is  this?  "  said  the  last-named  gentleman. 
**  Mr.  Fish,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  attend?  " 

Mr.  Fish  begged  pardon,  and  taking  the  letter 
from  Tob}',  handed  it,  with  great  respect 


The  Chimes.  129 

"  From  Alderman  Cute,  Sir  Joseph." 

"  Is  this  all  ?  Have  you  nothing  else,  Porter  ?  " 
inquired  Sir  Joseph. 

Toby  replied  in  the  negative. 

"You  have  no  bill  or  demand  upon  me — my 
name  is  Bowley,  Sir  Joseph  Bowley — of  any  kind 
from  anybody,  have  you?  "  said  Sir  Joseph.  "If 
you  have,  present  it.  There  is  a  cheque-book  by 
the  side  of  Mr.  Fish.  I  allow  nothing  to  be  carried 
into  the  New  Year.  Every  description  of  account 
is  settled  in  this  house  at  the  close  of  the  old  one. 
So  that  if  death  was  to— to — " 

"To  cut,"  suggested  Mr.  Fish. 

"  To  sever,  sir,"  returned  Sir  Joseph,  with  great 
asperity,  "  the  cord  of  existence — my  affairs 
would  be  found,  I  hope,  in  a  state  of  preparation." 

"  My  dear  Sir  Joseph  !  "  said  the  lady,  who  was 
greatly  younger  than  the  gentleman.  "How 
shocking  !  " 

"  My  Lady  Bowley,"  returned  Sir  Joseph,  floun- 
dering now  and  then,  as  in  the  great  depth  of  his 
observations,  "  at  this  season  of  the  year  we  should 
think  of — of — ourselves.  We  should  look  into 
our — our  accounts.  We  should  feel  that  every  re- 
turn of  so  eventful  a  period  in  human  transactions 
involves  matter  of  deep  moment  between  a  man 
and  his — and  his  banker." 

Sir  Joseph  delivered  these  words  as  if  he  felt  the 
full  morality  of  what  he  was  saying,  and  desired 
that  even  Trotty  should  have  an  opportunity  of 
being  improved  by  such  discourse.  Possibly  he 
had  this  end  before  him  in  still  forbearing  to  break 
the  seal  of  the  letter,  and  in  telling  Trotty  to  wait 
where  he  was  a  minute. 

"I  am  the  Poor  Man's  Friend,"  observed  Sir 
Joseph,  glancing  at  the  poor  man  present  "As 
such  I  may  be  taunted.  As  such  I  have  been 
taunted.     But  I  ask  no  other  title." 

"Bless  him  for  a  noble  gentleman!"  thought 
Trotty. 


130  Christmas  Tales. 

"I  don't  agree  with  Cute  here,  for  instance," 
said  Sir  Joseph,  holding  out  the  letter.  "I  don't 
agree  with  the  Filer  party.  I  don't  agree  with  any 
party.  My  friend,  the  Poor  Man,  has  no  business 
with  any  thing  of  that  sort,  and  nothing  of  that 
sort  has  any  business  with  him.  My  friend,  the 
Poor  Man,  in  my  district,  is  my  business.  No  man 
or  body  of  men  has  any  right  to  interfere  between 
my  friend  and  me.  That  is  the  ground  I  take.  I 
assume  a — a  paternal  character  toward  my  friend. 
I  say,  '  My  good  fellow,  I  will  treat  you  paternally.'" 

With  t::at  great  sentiment,  he  opened  the  Alder- 
man's letter,  and  read  it. 

"Very  polite  and  attentive,  I  am  sure!"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Joseph.  "  My  lady,  the  Alderman  is 
so  obliging  as  to  remind  me  that  he  has  had  'the 
distinguished  honor  ' — he  is  very  good — of  meeting 
me  at  the  house  of  our  mutual  friend  Deedles,  the 
banker,  and  he  does  me  the  favor  to  inquire 
whether  it  will  be  agreeable  to  me  to  have  Will 
Fern  put  down.  He  came  up  to  London,  it  seems, 
to  look  for  employment  (trying  to  better  himself — 
that's  his  story),  and  being  found  at  night  asleep 
in  a  shed,  was  taken  into  custody,  and  carried 
next  morning  before  the  Alderman.  The  Alder- 
man observes  (very  properly)  that  he  is  determined 
to  put  this  sort  of  thing  down,  and  that  if  it  will 
be  agreeab'e  tome  to  have  Will  Fern  put  down,  he 
will  be  happy  to  begin  with  him." 

''  Let  him  be  made  an  example  of,  by  all  means," 
returned  the  lady.  "  Last  winter,  when  I  intro- 
duced pinking  and  eyelet- holing  among  the  men 
and  boys  in  the  village  as  a  nice  evening  employ- 
ment, and  had  the  lines, 

Oh  let  us  love  our  occupations. 
Bless  the  squire  and  his  relations, 
Live  upon  our  daily  rations. 
And  always  know  our  proper  stations, 


The  Chimes.  131 

set  to  music  on  the  new  system,  for  tliem  to  sing 
the  while  ;  this  very  Fern — I  see  him  now — touched 
that  hat  of  his,  and  said,  '  I  humbly  ask  your  par- 
don, my  lady,  but  an't  I  something  different  from 
a  great  girl  ? '  I  expected  it,  of  course  ;  who  can 
expect  anything  but  insolence  and  ingratitude 
from  that  class  of  people  ?  That  is  not  to  the  pur- 
pose, however.  Sir  Joseph  !  Make  an  example 
of  him  !  " 

Trotty,  who  had  long  ago  relapsed,  and  was  very 
low-spirited,  stepped  forward  with  a  rueful  face  to 
take  the  letter  Sir  Joseph  held  out  to  him. 

"You  have  heard,  perhaps, "  said  Sir  Joseph, 
oracularly,  "certain  remarks  into  which  I  have 
been  led  respecting  the  solemn  period  of  time  at 
which  we  have  arrived,  and  the  duty  imposed  upon 
us  of  settling  our  affairs,  and  being  prepared.  Now, 
my  friend,  can  you  lay  your  hand  upon  \'our  heart, 
and  say  that  you  also  have  made  preparation  for  a 
New  Year?" 

"I  am  afraid,  sir,"  stammered  Trotty,  looking 
meekly  at  him,  "that  I  am  a — a — little  behind- 
hand with  the  world." 

"Behind-hand  with  the  world!"  repeated  Sir 
Joseph  Bowley,  in  a  tone  of  terrible  distinctness. 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  faltered  Trotty,  "  that  there's 
a  matter  of  ten  or  twelve  shillings  owing  to  Mrs. 
Chickenstalker." 

•'  To  Mrs.  Chickenstalker !  "  repeated  Sir  Joseph, 
in  the  same  tone  as  before. 

"  A  shop,  sir,"  exclaimed  Toby,  "in  the  general 
line.  Also  a— a  little  money  on  account  of  rent. 
A  very  little,  sir.  It  oughtn't  to  be  owing,  I  know, 
but  we  have  been  hard  put  to  it,  indeed  !  " 

Sir  Joseph  looked  at  his  lady,  and  at  Mr.  Fish, 
and  at  Trotty,  one  after  another,  twice  all  round. 
He  then  made  a  despondent  gesture  with  both 
hands  at  once,  as  if  he  gave  the  thing  up  altogether. 

"How  a  man,  even  among  this  improvident  and 


132  Christmas  Tales. 

impracticable  race  ;  an  old  man  ;  a  man  grown 
grey  ;  can  look  a  New  Year  in  the  face  with  his 
affairs  in  this  condition  ;  how  he  can  lie  down  on 
his  bed  at  night,  and  get  up  again  in  the  morning, 
and — There  !  "  he  said,  turning  his  back  on  Trotty. 
"Take  the  letter  !     Take  the  letter  !  " 

"I  heartily  wish  it  was  otherwise,  sir,"  said 
Trotty,  anxious  to  excuse  himself.  We  have  been 
tried  very  hard." 

Sir  Joseph  still  repeating  "Take  the  letter,  take 
the  letter  !  "  and  Mr.  Fish  not  only  saying  the  same 
thing,  but  giving  additional  force  to  the  request  by 
motioning  the  bearer  to  the  door,  he  had  nothing 
for  it  but  to  make  his  bow  and  leave  the  house. 
And  in  the  street,  poor  Trotty  pulled  his  worn  old 
hat  down  on  his  head  to  hide  the  grief  he  felt  at 
getting  no  hold  on  the  New  Year,  anywhere. 

He  didn't  even  lift  his  hat  to  look  up  at  the  Bell 
tower  when  he  came  to  the  old  church  on  his  re- 
turn. He  halted  there  a  moment,  from  habit ;  and 
knew  that  it  was  growing  dark  and  that  the  steeple 
rose  above  him  indistinct  and  faint  in  the  murky 
air.  He  knew,  too,  that  the  Chimes  would  ring 
immediately,  and  tliat  they  sounded  to  his  fancy, 
at  such  a  time,  like  voices  in  the  clouds.  But  he 
only  made  the  more  haste  to  deliver  the  Alder- 
man's letter  and  get  out  of  the  way  before  they  be- 
gan ;  for  he  dreaded  to  hear  them  tagging  "Friends 
and  Fathers,  Friends  and  Fathers,"  to  the  burden 
they  had  rung  out  last. 

Toby  discharged  himself  of  his  commission, 
therefore,  with  all  possible  speed  and  set  off  trotting 
homeward.  But  what  with  his  pace,  which  was  at 
best  an  awkward  one  in  the  street ;  and  what  with 
his  hat,  which  didn't  improve  it;  he  trotted  against 
somebody  in  less  than  no  time  and  was  sent  stag- 
gering out  into  the  road. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure !"  said  Trotty, 
pulling  up  his  hat  in  great  confusion,  and  between 


The  Chivies.  133 

the  hat  and  the  torn  lining,  fixing  his  head 
into  a  kind  of  bee-hive.  I  hope  I  haven't  hurt 
you." 

As  to  hurting  anybody,  Toby  was  not  such  an 
a' IS  )lute  Samson,  but  that  he  was  much  more  likely 
to  be  hurt  himself;  and  indeed  he  had  flown  out 
into  the  road  like  a  shuttle-cock.  He  had  such  an 
opinion  of  his  own  strength,  however,  that  he  was 
in  real  concern  for  the  other  party,  and  said  again, 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  hurt  you  ?  " 

The  man  against  whom  he  had  run,  a  sun- 
browned,  sinewy,  country-looking  man,  with  griz- 
zled hair  and  a  rough  chin,  stared  at  him  for  a 
moment,  as  if  he  suspected  him  to  be  in  jest.  But, 
satisfied  of  his  good  faith,  he  answered  : 

*'  No,  friend.    You  have  not  hurt  me." 

'♦  Nor  the  child,  I  hope  ?  "  said  Trotty. 

"Nor  the  child,"  returned  the  man.  "  I  thank 
you  kindly."' 

As  he  said  so,  he  glanced  at  a  little  girl  he  carried 
in  his  arms,  asleep,  and  shading  her  face  with  the 
long  end  of"  the  poor  handkerchief  he  wore  about 
his  throat,  went  slowly  on. 

The  tone  in  which  he  said  *  *  I  thank  you  kindly, " 
penetrated  Trotty's  heart.  He  was  so  jaded  and 
foot  sore,  and  so  soiled  with  travel,  and  looked 
about  him  so  forlorn  and  strange,  that  it  was  a 
comfort  to  him  to  be  able  to  thank  anyone,  no 
matter  for  how  little.  Toby  stood  gazing  after  him  as 
he  plodded  wearily  away,  with  the  child's  arm 
clinging  round  his  neck. 

At  the  figure  in  the  worn  shoes — now  the  very- 
shade  and  ghost  of  shoes — rough  leather  leggings, 
common  frock  and  broad  slouched  hat,  Trotty 
stood  gazing,  blind  to  the  whole  street  And  at  the 
child's  arm,  clinging  round  its  neck. 

Before  he  merged  into  the  darkness  the  traveler 
stopped,  and  looking  round  and  seeing  Trotty 
standing  there  yet,  seemed  undecided  whether  to 


134  Christmas  Tales. 

return  or  go  ou.  After  doing  first  the  one  and  then 
the  other,  he  came  back,  and  Trotty  went  halfway' 
to  meet  him. 

"You  can  tell  me,  perhaps,"  said  the  man  with 
a  faint  smile,  "  and  if  you  can  I  am  sure  will,  and 
I'd  rather  ask  you  than  another — where  Alderman 
Cute  lives." 

"  Close  at  hand,"  replied  Toby,  "I'll  show  you 
his  house  with  pleasure," 

"  I  was  to  have  gone  to  him  elsewhere  to-mor- 
row," said  the  man,  accompanying  Toby,  "  but  I 
am  uneasy  under  suspicion,  and  want  to  clear  my- 
self and  to  be  free  to  go  and  seek  my  bread  — I 
don't  know  where.  So,  maybe  he'll  forgive  my 
going  to  his  house  to-night." 

"  It's  impossible."  cried  Toby  with  a  start,  "  that 
your  name's  Fern  !  " 

"Eh!"  cried  the  other,  turning  on  him  in 
astonishment. 

"  Fern  !    Will  Fern  !  "  said  Trotty. 

**  That's  my  name,"  replied  the  other. 

"Why,  then,"  cried  Trotty,  seizing  him  by  the 
arm  and  looking  cautiously  round,  "for  Heaven's 
sake  don't  go  to  him  !  Don't  go  to  him  !  He'll 
put  you  down  as  sure  as  ever  you  were  born. 
Here,  come  up  this  alley,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
mean.     Don't  go  to //Z7«." 

His  new  acquaintance  looked  as  if  he  thought 
him  mad,  but  he  bore  him  company,  nevertheless. 
When  they  were  shrouded  from  ob«er%^ation,  Trotty 
told  him  what  he  knew,  and  wliat  character  he  had 
received,  and  all  about  it. 

The  subject  of  his  history  listened  to  it  with  a 
calmness  that  surprised  him.  He  did  not  contra- 
dict or  interrupt  it  once.  He  nodded  his  head  now 
and  then — more  in  corroboration  of  an  old  and 
worn-out  story,  it  appeared,  than  in  refutation  of 
it ;  and  once  or  twice  threw  back  his  hat,  and 
passed  his  freckled  hand  over  a  brow,  where  every 


The  Chimes.  135 

furrow  he  had  ploughed  seemed  to  have  set  its 
image  in  little.     But  he  did  no  more. 

"  It's  true  enough  in  the  main,"  he  said,  "mas- 
ter, I  could  sift  grain  from  husk  here  and  there, 
but  let  it  be  as  'tis.  What  odds?  I  have  gone 
against  his  plans;  to  my  misfortun'.  I  can't  help 
it ;  I  should  do  the  like  to-morrow.  As  to  charac- 
ter, them  gentlefolks  will  search  and  search,  and 
pr\-  and  pry,  and  have  it  as  free  from  spot  or  speck 
in  us,  afore  they'll  help  us  to  a  dry  good  word  ! — 
Well !  I  hope  they  don't  lose  good  opinion  as  easy 
as  we  do,  or  their  lives  is  strict  indeed,  and  hardly 
wcrth  the  keeping.  For  myself,  master,  I  never 
took  with  that  hand"— holding  it  before  him — 
"  what  wasn't  my  own  ;  and  never  held  it  back 
from  work,  however  hard,  or  poorly  paid.  Who- 
ever can  deny  it,  let  him  chop  it  cff!  But  when 
work  won't  maintain  me  like  a  human  creetur  ; 
when  my  living  is  so  bad,  that  I  am  Hungr}',  out 
of  dcors  and  in  ;  when  I  see  a  whole  working  life 
begin  that  way,  go  on  that  way,  and  end  that  way, 
without  a  chance  or  change  ;  then  I  say  to  the  gen- 
tlefolks *  Keep  away  from  me  !  Let  my  cottage  be. 
My  doors  is  dark  enough  without  your  darkening 
of  'em  more.  Don't  look  for  me  to  come  up  into 
the  Park  to  help  the  show  when  there's  a  Birth- 
day, or  a  fine  Speechmaking,  or  what  not.  Act 
your  Plays  and  Games  without  me,  and  be  wel- 
come to  'em  and  enjoy  'em.  We've  now  to  do 
with  one  another.     I'm  best  let  alone  !' " 

Seeing  that  the  child  in  his  arms  had  opened  her 
eyes,  and  was  looking  about  her  in  wonder,  he 
checked  himself  to  say  a  word  or  two  of  foolish 
prattle  in  her  ear,  and  stand  her  on  the  ground 
beside  him.  Then  slowly  winding  one  of  her  long 
tresses  round  and  round  his  rough  forefinger  like 
a  ring,  while  she  hung  about  his  dusty  leg,  he  said 
to  Trotty, 

"I'm   not   a    cross-grained    man     by  natur',    I 


136  Christmas  Tales. 

believe  ;  and  easy  satisfied,  I'm  sure.  I  bear  no  ill 
•will  against  none  of  'em.  I  only  want  to  live  like 
one  of  the  Almighty's  creeturs.  I  can't — I  don't — 
and  so  there's  a  pit  dug  between  me,  and  Ihem  that 
can  and  do.  There's  others  like  me.  You  mi^ht 
tell  'em  off  by  hundreds  and  by  thousands,  sooner 
than  by  ones." 

Trotty  knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth  in  this,  and 
shook  his  head  to  signify  as  much. 

"I've  got  a  bad  name  this  way,"  said  Fern  ; 
"and  I'm  not  likely,  I'm  afeared,  to  get  a  better. 
'Tan't  lawful  to  be  out  of  sorts,  and  I  am  out  of 
sorts,  though  God  knows,  I'd  sooner  bear  a  cheer- 
ful spirit  if  I  could.  Well !  I  don't  know  as  this 
Alderman  could  hurt  me  much  by  sending  me  to 
gaol ;  but  without  a  friend  to  speak  a  word  for  me, 
he  might  do  it ;  and  you  see —  !"  pointing  down- 
ward with  his  finger,  at  the  child. 

He  sunk  his  voice  so  low,  and  gazed  upon  her 
with  an  air  so  stern  and  strange,  that  Toby,  to 
divert  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  inquired  if  his 
wife  were  living. 

*'I  never  had  one,"  he  returned,  shaking  his 
head.  "She's  my  brother's  child:  a  orphan. 
Nine  year  old,  though  you'd  hardly  think  it ;  but 
she's  tired  and  worn  out  now.  They'd  have  taken 
care  on  her  in  the  Union — eight  and  twenty  mile 
away  from  where  we  live — between  four  walls  (as 
they  took  care  of  my  old  father  when  he  couldn't 
work  no  more,  though  he  didn't  trouble  'em  long) ; 
but  I  took  her  instead,  and  she's  lived  with  me  ever 
since.  Her  mother  had  a  friend  once,  in  London 
here.  We  are  trying  to  find  her,  and  to  find  work 
too  ;  but  it's  a  large  place.  Never  mind.  More 
room  for  us  to  walk  about  in,  Lilly  !  " 

Meeting  the  child's  eyes  with  a  smile  which 
melted  Toby  more  than  tears,  he  shook  him  by  the 
Land. 

' '  I  don't  so  much  as  know  your  name,"  he  said, 


The  Chimes,  13r 

"but  I've  opened  my  heart  free  to  you,    for  Vnz 
thankful  to  you  ;  with  good  reason.     I'll  take  yonr" 
advice  and  keep  clear  of  this — " 

"Justice,"  suggested  Toby. 

"Ah!"  he  said.  "If  that's  the  name  they- 
give  him.  This  Justice.  And  to-morrow  will  try 
whether  there's  better  fortun'  to  be  met  with,, 
somewheres  near  London.  Goodnight.  A  Happy 
New  Year  !  " 

'•Stay  !  "  cried  Trotty,  catching  at  his  hand,  as 
he  relaxed  his  grip.  "  Stay  !  The  New  Year  never 
can  be  happy  to  me,  if  we  part  like  this.  The  New- 
Year  can  never  be  happy  to  me,  if  I  see  the  child 
and  you  go  wandering  away,  youdon't  know  where, 
without  a  shelter  for  3'our  heads.  Come  home  v/itti 
me !  I'm  a  poor  man,  living  in  a  poor  place  ;  but 
I  can  give  you  lodging  for  one  night  and  never 
miss  it.  Come  home  with  me  !  Here!  I'll  take 
her!"  cried  Trotty,  lifting  up  the  child.  "A 
pretty  one  !  I'd  carry  tvt'enty  times  her  weight, 
and  never  know  I'd  got  it.  Tell  me  if  I  go  tcK> 
quick  for  you.  I'm  very  fast.  I  always  was  ?  ^* 
Trotty  said  this,  taking  about  six  of  his  trottinig 
paces  to  one  stride  of  his  fatigued  companion  ;  ant^ 
with  his  thin  legs  quivering  again,  beneath  the 
load  he  bore. 

"  Down  the  Mews  here,  Uncle  Will,  and  stop  aii 
the  black  door,  with  *  T.  Veck,  Ticket  Porter,/ 
wrote  upon  a  board  ;  and  here  we  are,  and  here  we 
go,  and  here  we  are  indeed,  my  precious  Meg,,  sur- 
prising you  !  " 

With  which  words  Trotty,  in  a  breathless  state, 
set  the  child  down  before  his  daughter  in  the  midi- 
dle  of  the  floor.  The  little  visitor  looked  once  at 
Meg ;  and  doubting  nothing  in  that  face,  but 
trusting  everything  she  sew  there  ;  ran  into  her 
arms. 

"Here  we  are,  and  here  we  go  !  "  cried  Trotty, 
running   round   the   room  and   choking   audibly. 


138  Christmas  Tales, 

"  Here,  Uncle  Will,  here's  a  fire  you  know  !  Why 
don't  you  come  to  the  fire  ?  Oh  here  we  are  and 
here  we  go  !  Meg,  my  precious  darling,  where 's 
the  kettle?  Here  it  is  and  here  it  goes,  and  it'll 
bile  in  no  time!  " 

Trotty  really  had  picked  up  the  kettle  somewhere 
or  other  in  the  course  of  his  wild  career,  and  now 
put  it  on  the  fire  ;  while  Meg,  seating  the  child  in 
a  warm  corner,  knelt  down  on  the  ground  before 
her,  and  pulled  off  her  shoes,  and  dried  her  wet 
feet  on  a  cloth.  Ay,  and  she  laughed  at  Trotty  too 
— so  pleasantly,  so  cheerfully,  that  Trotty  could 
have  blessed  her  where  f^he  kneeled  ;  for  he  had 
seen  that,  when  they  entered,  she  was  sitting  by 
the  fire  in  tears. 

"Why,  father  !"  said  Meg.  "'You're  crazy  to- 
night, I  think.  I  don't  know  what  the  Bells  would 
say  to  that." 

Meg  looked  toward  him  and  saw  that  he  had 
elaborately  stationed  himself  behind  the  chair  of 
their  male  visitor,  where  with  many  mysterious 
gestures  he  was  holding  up  the  six-pence  he  had 
earned. 

**  I  see,  my  dear,"  said  Trotty,  "  as  I  was  coming 
in,  half  an  ounce  of  tea  lying  somewhere  on  the 
stairs  ;  and  I'm  pretty  sure  there  was  a  bit  of  bacon 
too.  As  I  don't  remember  where  it  was  exactly, 
I'll  go  myself  and  try  to  find  'em." 

With  this  inscrutable  artifice,  Toby  withdrew  to 
purchase  the  viands  he  had  spoken  of,  for  ready 
money,  at  Mrs.  Chickenstalker's  ;  and  presently 
came  back,  pretending  that  he  had  not  been  able 
to  find  them,  at  first  in  the  dark. 

'•'But  here  they  are  at  last,"  said  Trotty,  setting 
out  the  tea  things,  ' '  all  correct !  I  was  pretty  sure 
it  was  tea  and  a  rasher.  So  it  is.  Meg  my  pet,  if 
you'll  just  make  the  tea,  while  your  unworthy  father 
toasts  the  bacon,  we  shall  be  ready  immediate. 
It's  a  curious  circumstance,"  said  Trotty,  proceed- 


The  Chimes.  139 

ing  in  his  cookery,  with  the  assistance  of  the  toast- 
ing-fork, "  curious,  but  well  known  to  my  friends, 
that  I  never  care,  myself,  for  rashers,  nor  for  tea. 
I  like  to  see  other  people  enjoy  'em,"  said  Trotty, 
speaking  very  loud  to  impress  the  fact  upon  his 
guest,  "but  to  me,  as  food,  they  are  disagree- 
able." 

Yet  Trotty  sniffed  the  savor  of  the  hissing  bacon 
— ah  I — as  if  he  hked  it ;  and  when  he  pourerl  the 
boiling  water  in  the  tea-pot,  looked  lovingly  down 
into  the  depths  of  that  snug  caldron,  and  suffering 
the  fragrant  steam  to  curl  about  his  nose,  and 
wreathe  his  head  and  face  in  a  thick  cloud.  How- 
ever, for  all  this,  he  neither  ate  nor  drank,  except 
at  the  very  beginning,  a  mere  morsel  for  form's 
sake,  which  he  appeared  to  eat  with  infinite  relish, 
but  declared  was  perfectly  uninteresting  to  him. 

"  Now,  111  tell  5-0U  what,"  said  Trotty  after  tea. 
"The  little  one,  she  sleeps  with  Meg,  I  know." 

"With  good  Meg!"  cried  the  child,  caressing 
her.     "With  Meg." 

"That's  right,"  said  Trotty.  "And  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  she'll  kiss  Meg's  father,  won't  she  ?  /'m 
Meg's  father." 

ISIightily  delighted  Trotty  was,  when  the  child 
went  timidly  toward  him,  and  having  kissed  him, 
fell  back  upon  INIeg  again. 

Meg  looked  toward  their  guest,  who  leaned  upon 
her  chair,  and  with  his  face  turned  from  her, 
fondled  the  child's  head,  half  hidden  in  her  lap. 

••To  be  sure,"  said  Toby.  "To  be  sure!  I 
don't  know  what  I  am  rambling  on  about,  to-night. 
My  wits  are  wool-gathering.  I  think.  Will  Fern, 
you  coine  along  with  me.  You're  tired  to  death, 
and  broken  down  for  want  of  rest.  You  come 
along  with  me." 

The  hand  released  from  the  child's  hair,  had 
fallen,  trembling,  into  Trotty 's  hand.  So  Trotty, 
talking    without    intermission,    led    him    out    as 


140  Christmas  Tales. 

tenderly  and  easily  as  if  he  had  been  a  child 
himself. 

Returning  before  Meg,  he  listened  for  an  instant 
at  the  door  of  her  little  chamber ;  an  adjoining 
room.  The  child  was  murmuring  a  simple  Prayer 
before  lying  down  to  sleep  ;  and  when  she  had  re- 
membered Meg's  name,  "Dearly,  Dearly" — so 
her  words  ran — Trotty  heard  her  stop  and  ask  for 
his. 

It  was  some  short  time  before  the  foolish  little 
old  fellow  could  compose  himself  to  mend  the  fire, 
and  draw  his  chair  to  the  warm  hearth.  But  when 
he  had  done  so,  and  had  trimmed  the  light,  he 
took  his  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and  began  to 
read.  Carelessly  at  first,  and  skimming  up  and 
down  the  columns  ;  but  with  an  earnest  and  a  sad 
attention,  very  soon. 

For  this  same  dreaded  paper  re-directed  Trotty 's 
thoughts  into  the  channel  they  had  taken  all  that 
day,  and  which  the  day's  events  had  so  marked 
out  and  shaped.  His  interest  in  the  two  wanderers 
had  set  him  on  another  course  of  thinking,  and  a 
happier  one,  for  the  time  ;  but  being  alone  again, 
and  reading  of  the  crimes  and  violences  of  the 
people,  he  relapsed  into  his  former  train. 

"It's  too  true,  all  I've  heard  to-daj',"  Toby  mut- 
tered ;  "  too  just,  too  full  of  proof.     We're  Bad  !  ** 

The  Chimes  took  up  the  words  so  suddenly — 
burst  out  so  loud,  and  clear,  and  sonorous — that 
the  Bells  seemed  to  strike  him  in  his  chair. 

And  what  was  that,  they  said  ? 

*'  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  waiting  for  you  Toby  ! 
Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  waiting  for  you  Toby  ! 
Come  and  see  us,  come  and  see  us,  Drag  him  to  us, 
drag  him  to  us.  Haunt  and  hunt  him,  haunt  and 
hunt  him.  Break  his  slumbers,  break  his  slumbers  ! 
Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  door  open  wide  Toby, 
Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  door  open  wide  Toby — " 
then  fiercely  back  to  their  impetuous  strain  again, 


The  Chimes,  141 

and  ringing  in  the  very  bncks  and  plaster  on  the 
walls. 

Toby  listened.  Fancy,  fanc^' !  His  remorse  for 
having  run  away  from  them  that  afternoon  !  No, 
no.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Again,  again,  and  yet 
a  dozen  times  again.  "Haunt  and  hunt  him, 
haunt  and  hunt  him,  Drag  him  to  us,  drag  him  to 
us  !  "     Deafening  the  whole  town  ! 

"Meg,"  said  Trotty,  softly  ;  tapping  at  her  door. 
"  Do  you  hear  anything?" 

"  I  hear  the  Bells,  father.  Surely  they're  very 
loud  to-night." 

"Is  she  asleep?"  said  Toby,  making  an  excuse 
for  peeping  in. 

"  So  peacefully  and  happily  !  I  can't  leave  her 
3'et  though,  father.  Look  how  she  holds  my 
hand  !" 

"Meg!"  whispered  Trottv.  "Listen  to  the 
Bells!" 

She  listened,  with  her  face  toward  him  all  the 
time.  But  it  underwent  no  change.  She  didn't 
understand  them. 

Trotty  withdrew,  resumed  his  seat  by  the  fire, 
and  once  more  listened  by  himself.  He  remained, 
here  a  little  time. 

It  was  impossible  to  bear  it ;  their  energy  wa& 
dreadful. 

"  If  the  tower-door  is  really  open,"  said  Toby, 
hastily  laying  aside  his  apron,  but  never  thinking; 
of  his  hat,  "  what's  to  hinder  me  from  going  up  in 
the  steeple  and  satisfying  myself?  If  it's  shut,  I 
don't  want  any  other  satisfaction.    That's  enough." 

He  was  pretty  certain  as  he  slipped  out  quietly 
into  the  street  that  he  should  find  it  shut  andi 
locked,  for  he  knew  the  door  well,  and  had  so 
rarely  seen  it  open,  that  he  couldn't  reckon  above 
three  times  in  all.  It  was  a  low-arched  portal  out- 
side the  church,  in  a  dark  nook  behind  a  column  ;. 
and  had  such  great  iron  hinges,  and  such  a  mon- 


142  Chnstmas  Tales. 

strous  lock,  that  there  was  more  hinge  and  lock 
than  door. 

But  what  was  his  astonishment  when,  coming 
bare-headed  to  the  church,  and  putting  his  hand 
into  this  dark  nook,  with  a  certain  misgiving  that 
it  might  be  unexpectedly  seized,  and  a  shivering 
propensity  to  draw  it  back  again,  he  found  that 
the  door,  which  opened  outward,  actually  stood 
ajar  ! 

He  thought,  on  the  first  surprise,  of  going  back  ; 
or  of  getting  a  light,  or  a  companion  ;  but  his 
courage  aided  him  immediately,  and  he  determined 
to  ascend  alone, 

"What  have  I  to  fear  ?  "  said  Trotty.  "It's  a 
church  !  Besides  the  ringers  may  be  there,  and 
have  forgotten  to  shut  the  door." 

So  he  went  in,  feeling  his  way  as  he  went,  like  a 
blind  man  ;  for  it  was  very  dark.  And  very  quiet, 
for  the  Chimes  were  silent. 

The  dust  from  the  street  had  blown  into  the  re- 
cess ;  and  lying  there,  heaped  up,  made  it  so  soft 
and  velvet-like  to  the  foot,  that  there  was  some- 
thing startling  even  in  that.  The  narrow  stair  was 
so  close  to  the  door,  too,  that  he  stumbled  at  the 
very  first ;  and  shutting  the  door  upon  himself  by 
striking  it  with  his  foot,  and  causing  it  to  rebound 
back  heavily,  he  couldn't  open  it  again. 

This  was  another  reason,  however,  for  going  on. 
Trotty  groped  his  way,  and  went  on.  Up,  up,  up, 
and  round  and  round ;  and  up,  up,  up,  higher, 
higher,  higher  up  ! 

Until,  ascending  through  the  floor,  and  pausing 
with  his  head  just  raised  above  its  beams,  he  came 
among  the  Bells.  It  was  barely  possible  to  make 
out  their  great  shapes  in  the  gloom  ;  but  there 
they  were.     Shadowy,  and  dark,  and  dumb. 

A  heavy  sense  of  dread  and  loneliness  fell  in- 
stantly upon  him,  as  he  climbed  into  this  airy  nest 
of  stone  and   metal.     His   head  went   round  and 


The  Chimes.  143 

round.  He  listened  and  then  raised  a  wild 
"Halloa!" 

Halloa !  was  mournfully  protracted  by  the 
echoes. 

Giddy,  confused,  and  out  of  breath,  and  fright- 
ened, Toby  looked  about  him  vacantly,  and  sunk 
down  in  a  swoon. 


Third  Quarter. 

When  and  how  the  darkness  of  the  night-black 
steeple  changed  to  shining  light  ;  and  how  the 
solitary  tower  was  peopled  with  a  myriad  figures  ; 
when  and  how  the  whispered  "Haunt  and  hunt 
him,"  breathing  monotonously  through  his  sleep 
or  swoon,  became  a  voice  exclaiming  in  the  wak- 
ing ears  of  Trotty,  "Break  his  slumbers  ;  "  when 
and  how  he  ceased  to  have  a  sluggish  and  confused 
idea  that  such  things  were,  companioning  a  host 
of  others  that  were  not ;  there  are  no  dates  or 
means  to  tell.  But,  awake,  and  standing  on  his 
feet  upon  the  boards  where  he  had  lately  lain,  he 
saw  this  Goblin  Sight. 

Then  and  not  before,  did  Trotty  see  in  every 
Bell  a  bearded  figure  of  the  bulk  and  stature  of  the 
Bell — incomprehensibly,  a  figure  and  the  Bell  it- 
self. Gigantic,  grave,  and  darklj^  watchful  of  him, 
as  he  stood  rooted  to  the  ground. 

Mysterious  and  awful  figures  !  Resting  on  noth- 
ing ;  poised  in  the  night  air  of  the  tower,  with 
their  draped  and  hooded  heads  merged  in  the  dim 
roof;  motionless  and  shadowy.  Shadowy  and 
dark,  although  he  saw  them  by  some  light  belong- 
ing to  themselves — none  else  was  there  —  each 
with  its  muffled  hand  upon  its  goblin  mouth. 

He  could  not  plunge  down  wildly  through  the 
opening  in  the  floor ;  for,  all  power  of  motion  had 


144  Christinas  Tales. 

deserted  him.  Otherwise  he  would  have  done  so 
— ay,  would  have  thrown  himself,  head-foremost, 
from  the  steeple- top,  rather  than  have  seen  them 
watching  him  with  eyes  that  would  have  waked 
and  watched,  although  the  pupils  had  been  taken 
out. 

A  blast  of  air — how  cold  and  shrill ! — came 
moaning  through  the  tower.  As  it  died  away,  the 
Oreat  Bell,  or  the  Goblin  of  the  Great  Bell,  spoke. 

"What  visitor  is  this?"  it  said.  The  voice  was 
low  and  deep,  and  Trotty  fancied  that  it  sounded 
in  the  other  figures  as  well. 

"  I  thought  my  name  was  called  by  the  Chimes  !'* 
said  Trotty,  raising  his  hands  in  an  attitude  of  sup- 
plication. "I  hardly  know  why  I  am  here,  or 
liow  I  came.  I  have  listened  to  the  Chimes  these 
many  years.     They  have  cheered  me  often." 

''And  you  have  thanked  them  ?"  said  the  bell. 

"A  thousand  times  !"  cried  Trotty. 

*'How?" 

"I  am  a  poor  man,"  faltered  Trotty,  "  and  could 
only  thank  them  in  words." 

"And  always  so?"  inquired  the  Goblin  of  the 
Bell.    "  Have  you  never  done  us  wrong  in  words?" 

"  No  !"  cried  Trotty,  eagerly. 

"Never  done  us  foul,  and  false,  and  wicked 
-wrong,  in  words?"  pursued  the  Goblin  of  the 
Bell. 

Trotty  was  about  to  answer  "Never!"  But  he 
-stopped  and  was  confused. 

"The  voice  of  Time, "  said  the  Phantom,  "  cries 
to  man.  Advance  !  Time  is  for  his  advancement 
and  improvement ;  for  his  greater  worth,  his 
greater  happiness,  his  better  life  ;  his  progress  on- 
ward to  that  goal  within  its  knowledge  and  its 
view,  and  set  there,  in  the  period  when  Time  and 
he  began.  Ages  of  darkness,  wickedness,  and 
violence,  have  come  and  gone — millions  uncount- 
able, have  suffered,  lived,  and  died — to  point  the 


The  Chimes.  145 

way  before  him.  Who  seeks  to  turn  him  back,  or 
stay  him  on  his  course,  arrests  a  mighty  engine 
■which  will  strike  the  meddler  dead  ;  and  be  the 
fiercer  and  the  wilder,  ever,  for  its  momentary 
check !" 

"  I  never  did  so  to  my  knowledge,  sir,"  said 
Trotty.  "It  was  quite  by  accident  if  I  did.  I 
wouldn't  go  to  do  it,  I'm  sure." 

"Who  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Time,  or  of  its 
servants,"  said  the  Goblin  of  the  Bell,  "a  cry  of 
lamentation  for  days  which  have  had  their  trial  and 
their  failure,  and  have  left  deep  traces  of  it  which 
the  blind  may  see — a  cry  that  only  serv-es  the  pres- 
ent time,  by  showing  men  how  much  it  needs  their 
help  when  any  ears  can  listen  to  regrets  for  such  a 
past — who  does  this,  does  a  wrong.  And  you  have 
done  that  wrong  to  us,  the  Chimes." 

Trotty 's  first  excess  of  fear  was  gone.  But  he 
had  felt  tenderly  and  gratefully  toward  the  Bells, 
as  you  have  seen  ;  and  when  he  heard  himself  ar- 
raigned as  one  who  had  offended  them  so  weightily, 
his  heart  was  touched  with  penitence  and  grief. 

*'  If  you  knew,"  said  Trotty,  clasping  his  hands 
earnestly — "  or  perhaps  you  do  know — if  you  know 
how  often  you  have  kept  me  company;  how  often  you 
have  cheered  me  up  when  I've  been  low  ;  how  you 
were  quite  the  plaything  of  my  little  daughter  Meg 
(almost  the  only  one  she  ever  had)  when  first  her 
mother  died,  and  she  and  me  were  left  alone  ;  you 
won't  bear  malice  for  a  hasty  word  !" 

"  Who  hears  in  us,  the  Chimes,  one  note  be- 
speaking disregard,  or  stern  regard,  of  any  hope, 
or  joy,  or  pain,  or  sorrow,  of  the  many-sorrowed 
throng;  who  bears  us  make  response  to  any  creed 
that  gauges  human  passions  and  affections,  as  it 
gauges  the  amount  of  miserable  food  on  which 
humanity  may  pine  and  wither  ;  does  us  wrong. 
That  wrong  you  have  done  us  !"  said  the  Bell. 

"  I  have  !"  said  Trotty.   "  Oh,  forgive  me  !" 


146  Christmas  Tales. 

"Spare  me,"  cried  Trotty,  falling  on  his  knees  ; 
*'  for  Mercy's  sake  !" 

"  Listen  !"  said  the  Shadow. 

'*  Listen  !"  cried  the  other  Shadows. 

"Listen!"  said  a  clear  and  child-like  voice, 
which  Trotty  thought  he  recognized  as  having 
heard  before. 

The  organ  .sounded  faintly  in  the  church  below. 
Swelling  Dy  degrees,  the  melody  ascended  to  the 
roof,  and  filled  the  choir  and  nave.  Expanding 
more  and  more,  it  rose  up,  up,  up,  up ;  higher,  higher, 
higher  up  ;  awakening  agitated  hearts  within  the 
burly  piles  of  oak,  the  hollow  bells,  the  iron-bound 
doors,  the  stairs  of  solid  stone  ;  until  the  tower 
walls  were  insuflBcient  to  contain  it,  and  it  soared 
into  the  sky. 

No  wonder  that  an  old  man's  breast  could  not 
contain  a  sound  so  vast  and  mighty.  It  broke  from 
that  weak  prison  in  a  rush  of  tears  ;  and  Trotty  put 
his  hands  before  his  face. 

''  Listen  !"  said  the  Shadow. 

"  Listen  !"  said  the  other  Shadows. 

"  Listen  !"  said  the  child's  voice. 

A  solemn  strain  of  blended  voices  rose  into  the 
tower. 

It  was  a  very  low  and  mournful  strain — a  Dirge 
— and  as  he  listened,  Trotty  heard  his  child  among 
the  singers. 

"  She  is  dead  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "Meg 
is  dead.     Her  spirit  calls  to  me.    I  hear  it !" 

"The  Spirit  of  your  child  bewails  the  dead,  and 
mingles  with  the  dead— dead  hopes,  dead  fancies, 
dead  imaginings  of  youth,"  returned  the  Bell,  "  but 
she  is  living.  Learn  from  her  life,  a  living  truth. 
Learn  from  the  creature  dearest  to  your  heart,  how 
bad  the  bad  are  born.  See  every  bud  and  leaf 
plucked  one  by  one  from  off  the  fairest  stem,  and 
know  how  bare  and  wretched  it  may  be.  Follow 
her  !    To  desperation  !" 


The  Chimes.  147 

Each  of  the  shadowy  figures  stretched  its  right 
arm  forth,  and  pointed  downward. 

"The  Spirit  of  the  Chimes  is  your  companion," 
said  the  figure.     "  Go  !     It  stands  behind  you  !" 

Trotty  turned,  and  saw — the  child!  The  child 
Will  Fern  had  carried  in  the  street ;  the  child 
whom  Meg  had  watched,  but  now,  asleep  ! 

"I  carried  her  myself,  to-night,"  said  Trotty. 
*'In  these  arms  !" 

"Show  him  what  he  calls  himself,"  said  the 
dark  figures,  one  and  all. 

The  tower  opened  at  his  feet.  He  looked  down, 
and  beheld  his  own  form,  lying  at  the  bottom,  on 
the  outside  :  crushed  and  motionless. 

"No  more  a  living  man!"  cried  Trotty. 
"  Dead  1" 

"  Dead  !"  said  the  figures  altogether. 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !     And  the  New  Year — ' 

•'  Past,"  said  the  figures. 

"What!"  he  cried,  shuddering,  "I  missed  my 
way,  and  coming  on  the  outside  of  this  tower  in 
the  dark,  fell  down — a  year  ago?" 

"  Nine  years  ago  !"  replied  the  figures. 

As  they  gave  the  answer,  they  recalled  their  out- 
stretched hands  ;  and  where  their  figures  had  been, 
there  the  Bells  were. 

"What  are  these?"  he  asked  his  guide.  "If  I 
am  not  mad,  what  are  these  ?" 

"Spirits  of  the  Bells.  Their  sound  upon  the  air," 
returned  the  child.  "  They  take  such  shapes  and 
occupations  as  the  hopes  and  thoughts  of  mortals, 
and  the  recollections  they  have  stored  up,  give 
them." 

"And  you,"  said  Trotty,  wildly.  "What  are 
you?" 

"Hush,  hush!"  returned  the  child.  "Look 
here  1" 

In  a  poor,  mean  room  ;  working  at  the  same 
kind  of  embroidery,  which   he  had  often,  often. 


148  Christmas  Tales. 

seen  before  her  ;  Meg,  his  own  dear  daughter,  was 
presented  to  his  view.  He  made  no  effort  to  im- 
print his  kisses  on  her  face  ;  he  did  not  strive  to 
clasp  her  to  his  loving  heart ;  he  knew  that  such 
endearments  were,  for  him,  no  more.  But  he  held 
his  trembling  breath,  and  brushed  away  the  blind- 
ing tears,  that  he  might  look  upon  her ;  that  he 
might  only  see  her. 

Ah !  Changed.  Changed.  The  light  of  the 
clear  e3^e,  how  dimmed.  The  bloom,  how  faded 
from  the  cheek.  Beautiful  she  was,  as  she  had  ever 
been,  but  Hope,  Hope,  Hope,  oh,  where  was  the 
fresh  Hope  that  had  spoken  to  him  like  a  voice  ! 

She  looked  up  from  her  work,  at  a  companion. 
Following  her  eyes,  the  old  man  started  back. 

In  the  woman  grown,  he  recognized  her  at  a 
glance.  In  the  long  silken  hair,  he  saw  the  self- 
same curls  ;  around  the  lips,  the  child's  expression 
lingering  still.  See !  In  the  eyes,  now  turned  in- 
quiringly on  Meg,  there  shone  the  very  look  that 
scanned  those  features  when  he  brought  her  home  ! 

Then  what  was  this,  beside  him  ? 

Looking  with  awe  into  its  face,  he  saw  a  some- 
thing reigning  there  :  a  lofty  something,  undefined 
and  indistinct,  which  made  it  hardly  more  than  a  re- 
membrance of  that  child — as  yonder  figure  might  be 
— yet  it  was  the  same :  the  same  :  and  wore  the  dress. 

Hark  !     The}^  were  speaking  ! 

"Meg,"  said  Lilian,  hesitating.  "How  often 
you  raise  your  head  from  your  work  to  look  at  me  !" 

"Are  my  looks  so  altered,  that  they  frighten 
you?"  asked  Meg. 

' '  Nay,  dear  !  But  you  smile  at  that  yourself ! 
Why  not  smile  when  you  look  at  me,  Meg?" 

"I  do  so.  Do  I  not?"  she  answered  :  smiling  on 
her. 

"Now  you  do,"  said  Lilian,  "but  not  usually. 
When  you  think  I'm  busy,  and  don't  see  you,  you 
look  so  anxious  and  so  doubtful,  that  I  hardly  like 


The  Chimes.  149 

to  raise  my  eyes.  There  is  little  cause  for  smiling 
in  this  hard  and  toilsome  life,  but  you  were  once 
so  cheerful." 

"  Aru  I  not  now  ?"  cried  Meg,  speaking  in  a  tone 
of  strange  alarm,  and  rising  to  embrace  her.  "  Do 
/make  our  weary  life  more  weary  to  you,  Lilian?" 

"  You  have  been  the  only  thing  that  made  it 
life,"  said  Lilian,  fervently  kissing  her;  "some- 
times the  only  thing  that  made  me  care  to  live  so, 
Meg.  Such  work,  such  work  !  So  many  hours, 
so  many  days,  so  many  long,  long  nights  of  hope- 
less, cheerless,  never-ending  work  -  not  to  heap  up 
riches,  not  to  live  grandh^  orgayly,  not  to  live  upon 
enough,  however  coarse ;  but  to  earn  bare  bread  ; 
to  scrape  together  just  enough  to  toil  upon,  and 
want  upon,  and  keep  alive  in  us  the  consciousness 
of  our  hard  fate!  Oh,  Meg.  Meg  I"  she  raised  her 
voice  and  twined  her  arms  about  her  as  she  spoke, 
like  one  in  pain.  "  How  can  the  cruel  world  go 
round,  and  bear  to  look  upon  such  lives  !" 

"Lilly  !"  said  Meg,  soothing  her,  and  putting 
back  her  hair  from  her  wet  face.  "  Why,  Lilly  ! 
You  !     So  pretty  and  so  young  !" 

"Oh,  Meg!"  she  interrupted,  holding  her  at 
arm's-length,  and  looking  in  her  face  imploringly. 
"  The  worst  of  all  !  The  worst  of  all  !  Strike  me 
old,  Meg  1  Wither  me  and  shrivel  me,  and  free 
me  from  the  dreadful  thoughts  that  tempt  me  in 
my  youth  !  " 

Trotty  turned  to  look  upon  his  guide.  But,  the 
Spirit  of  the  child  had  taken  flight.    Was  gone. 

*  ■)<■  T«-  -X-  *  *  * 


Fourth  Quarter. 

Some  new  remembrance  of  the  ghostly  figures 
in  the  Bells  ;  some  faint  impression  of  the  ringing 
of  the  Chimes  ;  some  giddy  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing seen  the  swarm  of  phantoms  reproduced  and 


150  Christmas  Tales. 

reproduced  until  the  recollection  of  them  lost  itself 
in  the  confusion  of  their  numbers  ;  some  hurried 
knowledge,  how  conveyed  to  him  he  knew  not, 
that  more  years  had  passed  ;  and  Trotty,  with  the 
Spirit  of  the  child  attending  him,  stood  looking  on 
at  mortal  compan}'. 

Fat  company,  rosy-cheeked  company,  comfort- 
able compan)'.  They  were  but  two,  but  they  were 
red  enough  for  ten.  They  sat  before  a  bright  fire, 
with  a  small  low  table  between  them  ;  and  unless 
the  fragrance  of  hot  tea  and  muflQns  lingered 
longer  in  that  room  than  in  most  others,  the  table 
had  seen  service  very  lately.  But  all  the  cups  and 
saucers  being  clean,  and  in  their  proper  places  in 
the  corner  cupboard  ;  and  the  brass  toasting  fork 
hanging  in  its  usual  nook,  and  spreading  its  four 
idle  fingers  out,  as  if  it  wanted  to  be  measured  for 
a  glove  ;  there  remained  no  other  visible  tokens 
of  the  meal  just  finished,  than  such  as  purred  and 
washed  their  whiskers  in  the  person  of  the  bask- 
ing cat,  and  glistened  in  the  gracious,  not  to  say 
the  greasy,  faces  of  her  patrons. 

This  cosy  couple  (married,  evidently)  had  made 
a  fair  division  of  the  fire  between  them,  and  sat 
looking  at  the  glowing  sparks  that  dropped  into 
the  grate  ;  now  nodding  off  into  a  doze ;  now 
wakiug  up  again  when  some  hot  fragment,  larger 
than  the  rest,  came  rattling  down,  as  if  the  fire 
were  coming  with  it. 

It  was  in  no  danger  of  sudden  extinction,  how- 
ever ;  for  it  gleamed  not  only  in  the  little  room, 
and  on  the  panes  of  window-glass  in  the  door,  and 
on  the  curtain  half  drawn  across  them,  but  in  the 
little  shop  beyond.  A  little  shop,  quite  crammed 
and  choked  with  the  abundance  of  its  stock ;  a 
perfectly  voracious  little  shop,  with  a  maw  as  ac- 
commodating and  full  as  any  shark's.  Cheese, 
butter,  firewood,  soap,  pickles,  matches,  bacon, 
table-beer,  peg-tops,  sweetmeats,  boys'  kites,  bird- 


The  Chimes,  151 

seed,  cold  ham,  birch  brooms,  hearth-stones,  salt, 
vinegar,  blacking,  red  herrings,  stationery,  lard, 
mushroom  ketchup,  stay-laces,  loaves  of  bread, 
shuttlecocks,  eggs,  and  slate-pencils ;  everything 
was  fish  that  came  to  the  net  of  this  greedy  little 
shop,  and  all  articles  were  in  its  net. 

Glancing  at  such  of  these  items  as  were  visible 
in  the  shining  of  the  blaze,  and  the  less  cheerful 
radiance  of  two  smoky  lamps  which  burnt  but 
dimly  in  the  shop  itself,  as  though  its  plethora  sat 
heavy  on  their  lungs ;  and  glancing,  then,  at  one 
of  the  two  faces  by  the  parlor-fire,  Trotty  had 
small  difficulty  in  recognizing  in  the  stout  old  lady, 
Mrs.  Chickeustalker :  always  inclined  to  cor- 
pulency, even  in  the  days  when  he  had  known  her 
as  established  in  the  general  line,  and  having  a 
small  balance  against  him  in  her  books. 

The  features  of  her  companion  were  less  easy  to 
him.  The  great  broad  chin,  with  creases  in  it 
large  enough  to  hide  a  finger  in  ;  the  astonished 
eyes,  that  seemed  to  expostulate  with  themselves 
for  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  yielding  fat 
of  the  soft  face ;  the  nose  afflicted  with  that  dis- 
ordered action  of  its  functions  which  is  generally 
termed  The  Snuffles  ;  the  short  thick  throat  and 
laboring  chest,  with  other  beauties  of  the  like 
description,  though  calculated  to  impress  the 
memory,  Trotty  could  at  first  allot  to  nobody  he 
had  ever  known  :  and  yet  he  had  some  recollection 
of  them  too.  At  length,  in  Mrs.  Chickenstalker's 
partner  in  the  general  line,  and  in  the  crooked  and 
eccentric  line  of  life,  he  recognized  the  former 
porter  of  Sir  Joseph  Bowley  ;  an  apoplectic  inno- 
cent, who  had  connected  himself  in  Trotty's  mind 
with  Mrs.  Chickeustalker  years  ago,  by  giving  him 
admission  to  the  mansion  where  he  had  confessed 
his  obligations  to  that  lady,  and  drawn  on  his 
unlucky  head  such  grave  reproach. 

Trotty  had  little  interest  in  a  change  like  this, 


152  Christmas  Tales, 

after  the  changes  he  had  seen  ;  but  association  is 
very  strong  sometimes ;  and  he  looked  involuntarily 
behind  the  parlor- door,  where  the  accounts  of 
credit  customers  were  usually  kept  in  chalk.  There 
was  no  record  of  his  name.  Some  names  were 
there,  but  they  were  strange  to  him,  and  infinitely 
fewer  than  of  old  ;  from  which  he  argued  that  the 
porter  was  an  advocate  of  ready  money  trans- 
actions, and  on  coming  into  the  business  had 
looked  pretty  sharp  after  the  Chickenstalker  de- 
faulters . 

So  desolate  was  Trotty,  and  so  mournful  for  the 
youth  and  promise  of  his  blighted  child,  that  it 
was  a  sorrow  to  him,  even  to  have  no  place  in  Mrs. 
Chickenstalker's  ledger. 

"What  sort  of  a  night  is  it,  Anne?"  inquired 
the  former  porter  of  Sir  Joseph  Bowley,  stretching 
out  his  legs  before  the  fire,  and  rubbing  as  much 
of  them  as  his  short  arms  could  reach ;  with  an  air 
that  added,  "  Here  I  am  if  it's  bad,  and  I  don't 
want  to  go  out  if  it's  good." 

"  Hard  weather  indeed,"  returned  his  wife, 
shaking  her  head. 

"A}^  ay!  Years,"  said  Mr.  Tugby,  "are  like 
Christians  in  that  respect.  Some  of  'em  die  hard  ; 
some  of  'em  die  easy.  This  one  hasn't  many  days 
to  run,  and  is  making  a  fight  for  it.  I  like  him  all 
the  better.     There's  a  customer,  my  love  !  " 

Attentive  to  the  rattling  door,  Mrs.  Tugby  had 
already  risen. 

"  Now,  then  !  "  said  that  lady,  passing  out  into 
the  little  shop.  "What's  wanted?  Oh!  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  I'm  sure.  I  didn't  think  it  was 
you." 

She  made  this  apology  to  a  gentleman  in  black, 
who,  with  his  wristbands  tucked  up,  and  his  hat 
cocked  loungingly  on  one  side,  and  his  hand  in 
his  pocket,  sat  down  astride  on  the  table-beer 
barrel,  and  nodded  in  return. 


The  Chimes.  153 

"This  is  a  bad  business  up-stairs,  Mrs.  Tugby," 
said  the  gentleman.     ' '  The  man  can't  live. ' ' 

"  Not  the  back-attic  can't !  "  cried  Tugby,  com- 
ing out  into  the  shop  to  join  the  conference. 

"  The  back-attic,  Mr.  Tugby,"  said  the  gentle- 
man, "is  coming  down-stairs  fast,  and  will  be 
below  the  basement  very  soon." 

Looking  by  turns  at  Tugby  and  his  wife,  he 
sounded  the  barrel  with  his  knuckles  for  the  depth 
of  beer,  and  having  found  it,  played  a  tune  upon 
the  emply  part. 

"The  back-attic,  Mr.  Tugby,"  said  the  gentle- 
man: Tugby  having  stood  in  silent  consternation 
for  some  time  ;  "  is  Going." 

"Then,"  said  Tugby,  turning  to  his  wife,  "he 
must  Go,  you  know,  before  he's  Gone." 

**I  don't  think  you  can  move  him,"  said  the 
gentleman,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  wouldn't  take 
the  responsibility  of  saying  it  could  be  done,  my- 
self. You  had  better  leave  him  where  he  is.  He 
can't  live  long." 

"Its  the  only  subject,"  said  Tugby,  bringing 
the  butter-scale  down  upon  the  counter  with  a 
crash,  by  weighing  his  fist  on  it,  "that  we've  ever 
had  a  word  upon  ;  she  and  me  ;  and  look  what  it 
comes  to  !  He's  going  to  die  here,  after  all.  Going 
to  die  upon  the  premises.  Going  to  die  in  our 
house !  " 

"And  where  should  he  have  died,  Tugby?" 
cried  his  wife. 

"In  the  workhouse,"  he  returned.  "  What  are 
workhouses  made  for?  " 

"Not  for  that!"  said  Mrs.  Tugby,  with  great 
energy.  "Not  for  that!  Neither  did  I  marry 
you  for  that.  Don't  think  it,  Tugby.  I  won't 
have  it.  I  won't  allow  it.  I'd  be  separated  first, 
and  never  see  your  face  again.  When  my  widow's 
name  stood  over  that  door,  as  it  did  for  many, 
many  years :    the  house  being  known    as    Mrs. 


154  Christmas  Tales. 

Chickenstalker's  far  and  wide,  and  never  known 
but  to  its  honest  credit  and  its  good  report :  when 
my  widow's  name  stood  over  that  door,  Tugby,  I 
knew  him  as  a  handsome,  steady,  manlj^  indepen- 
dent youth  ;  I  knew  her  as  the  sweetest  looking, 
sweetest  tempered  girl,  eyes  ever  saw  ;  I  knew  her 
father  (poor  old  creetur,  he  fell  down  from  the 
steeple  walking  in  his  sleep,  and  killed  himself), 
for  the  simplest,  hardest  working,  childest-hearted 
man,  that  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life  ;  and  when 
I  turn  them  out  of  house  and  home,  may  angels 
turn  me  out  of  heaven.  As  they  wouli  !  And 
serve  me  right !  ' ' 

Her  old  face,  which  had  been  a  plump  and 
dimpled  one  before  the  changes  which  had  come 
to  pass,  seemed  to  shine  out  of  her  as  she  said 
these  words ;  and  when  she  dried  her  ej-es,  and 
shook  her  head  and  her  handkerchief  at  Tugby, 
with  an  expression  of  firmness  which  it  was  quite 
clear  was  not  to  be  easily  resisted,  Trotty  said, 
•' Bless  her  !     Bless  her!" 

Then  he  listened,  with  a  panting  heart,  for  what 
should  follow.  Knowing  nothing  yet,  but  that 
they  spoke  of  Meg. 

The  gentleman  upon  the  table-beer  cask,  who 
appeared  to  be  some  authorized  medical  attendant 
upon  the  poor,  was  far  too  well  accustomed,  evi- 
dently, to  little  differences  of  opinion  between 
man  and  wife,  to  interpose  any  remark  in  this  in- 
stance. He  sat  softly  whistling,  and  turning  little 
drops  of  beer  out  of  the  tap  upon  the  ground, 
until  there  was  a  perfect  calm  :  when  he  raised 
his  head  and  said  to  Mrs.  Tugby,  late  Chicken- 
stalker  : 

"There's  something  interesting  about  the  wo- 
man, even  now.  How  did  she  come  to  marry 
him?" 

"Why,  that,"  said  Mrs.  Tugby,  taking  a  seat 
near  him,  "  is  not  the  least  cruel  part  of  her  story, 


The  Chimes.  155 

sir.  You  see  they  kept  company,  she  and  Richard, 
many  years  ago.  When  they  were  a  young  and 
beautiful  couple,  everything  was  settled,  and  they 
■were  to  have  been  married  on  a  New  Year's  Da}'-, 
But,  somehow,  Richard  got  it  into  his  head, 
through  what  the  gentleman  told  him,  that  he 
might  do  better,  and  that  he'd  soon  repent  it,  and 
that  she  wasn't  good  enough  for  him,  and  that  a 
young  man  of  spirit  had  no  business  to  be  mar- 
ried. And  the  gentleman  frightened  her,  and 
made  her  melancholy,  and  timid  of  his  deserting 
her,  and  of  her  children  coming  to  the  gallows,  and 
of  its  being  wicked  to  be  man  and  wife,  and  a  good 
deal  more  of  it.  And  in  short,  they  lingered  and  lin- 
gered, and  their  trust  in  one  another  was  broken,  and 
so  at  last  was  the  match.  But  the  fault  was  his.  She 
would  have  married  him,  sir,  joyfully.  I've  seen 
her  heart  swell,  many  times  afterwards,  when  he 
passed  her  in  a  proud  and  careless  way  ;  and  never 
did  a  woman  grieve  more  truly  for  a  man,  than  she 
for  Richard  when  he  first  went  wrong." 

"  Oh  !  he  went  wrong,  did  he?  "  said  the  gentle- 
man, pulling  out  the  vent-peg  of  the  table-beer, 
and  trying  to  peep  down  into  the  barrel  through 
the  hole. 

"Well,  sir,  I  don't  know  that  he  rightly  un- 
derstood himself,  you  see,  I  think  his  mind 
was  troubled  by  their  having  broke  with  one 
another  ;  and  that  but  for  being  ashamed  before 
the  gentlemen,  and  perhaps  for  being  uncertain 
too,  how  she  might  take  it,  he'd  have  gone  through 
any  suffering  or  trial  to  have  had  Meg's  promise, 
and  Meg's  hand  again.  That's  my  belief.  He 
never  said  so  ;  more's  the  pity  !  He  took  to  drink- 
ing, idling,  bad  companions  :  all  the  fine  resources 
that  were  to  be  so  much  better  for  him  than  the 
Home  he  might  have  had.  He  lost  his  looks,  his 
character,  his  health,  his  strength,  his  friends,  his 
work  :  everything  !  " 


156  Christmas  Tales. 

"He  didn't  lose  everything,  Mrs.  Tugby," 
returned  the  gentleman,  because  he  gained  a  wife; 
and  I  want  to  know  how  he  gained  her." 

"I'm  coming  to  it,  sir,  in  a  moment.  This 
went  on  for  years  and  years  ;  he  sinking  lower  and 
lower  ;  she  enduring,  poor  thing,  miseries  enough 
to  wear  her  life  away.  At  last  he  was  so  cast 
down,  and  cast  out,  that  no  one  would  employ  or 
notice  him  ;  and  doors  were  shut  upon  him,  go 
where  he  would.  Applying  from  place  to  place, 
and  door  to  door  ;  and  coming  for  the  hundredth 
time  to  one  gentleman,  who  had  often  and  often 
tried  him  (he  was  a  good  workman  to  the  very 
end)  ;  that  gentleman,  who  knew  his  history,  said, 
'  I  believe  you  are  incorrigible ;  there's  only  one 
person  in  the  world  who  has  a  chance  of  reclaim- 
ing you ;  ask  me  to  trust  3'ou  no  more,  until  she 
tries  to  do  it . '  Something  like  that,  in  his  anger 
and  vexation." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  gentleman.     "Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  he  went  to  her,  and  kneeled  to  her  ; 
said  it  w^as  so  ;  said  it  ever  had  been  so  ;  and  made 
a  prayer  to  her  to  save  him." 

"And  she?  —  Don't  distress  yourself,  Mrs. 
Tugby." 

"She  came  to  me  that  night  to  ask  me  about 
living  here.  'What  he  w^as  once  to  me,'  she 
said,  *  is  buried  in  a  grave,  side  by  side  with  what 
I  was  to  him.  But  I  have  thought  of  this  ;  and  I 
will  make  the  trial.  In  the  hope  of  saving  him  ; 
for  the  love  of  the  light-hearted  girl  (you  remem- 
ber her)  who  was  to  have  been  married  on  a  New 
Year's  Day;  and  for  the  love  of  her  Richard.' 
And  he  said  he  had  come  to  her  from  Lilian,  and 
Lilian  had  trusted  to  him,  and  she  never  could 
forget  that.  So  they  w^ere  married  ;  and  w^hen 
they  came  home  here,  and  I  saw  them,  I  hoped 
that  such  prophecies  as  parted  them  when  they 
were  young,  may  not  often   fulfill  themselves  as 


The  Chimes.  157 

they  did  in  this  case,  or  I  wouldn't  be  the  makers 
of  them  for  a  Mine  of  Gold." 

The  gentleman  got  off  the  cask,  and  stretched 
himself,  observing : 

"  I  suppose  he  used  her  ill,  as  soon  as  they  \s'ere 
married  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  he  ever  did  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Tugby,  shaking  her  head  and  wiping  her  eyes. 
"  He  went  on  better  for  a  short  time  ;  but,  his 
habits  were  too  old  and  strong  to  be  got  rid  of ;  he 
soon  fell  back  a  little  ;  and  was  falling  fast  back, 
when  his  illness  came  so  strong  upon  him.  I 
think  he  has  alwaj's  felt  for  her.  I  am  sure  he  has. 
I've  seen  him  in  his  crying  fits  and  tremblings,  try 
to  kiss  her  hand  ;  and  I  have  heard  him  call  her 
'Meg,'  and  say  it  was  her  nineteenth  birthday. 
There  he  has  been  lying,  now,  these  weeks  and 
months.  Between  him  and  her  baby,  she  has  not 
been  able  to  do  her  old  work;  and  by  not  being 
able  to  be  regular,  she  has  lost  it,  even  if  she  could 
have  done  it.  How  they  have  lived,  I  hardly 
know  !  " 

"  /  know,"  muttered  Mr.  Tugby,  looking  at  the 
till,  and  round  the  shop,  and  at  his  wife  ;  and  roll- 
ing his  head  with  immense  intelligence. 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  cry — a  sound  of  lamen- 
tation— from  the  upper  story  of  the  house.  The 
gentleman  moved  hurriedly  to  the  door. 

"My  friend,"'  he  said,  looking  back,  "you 
needn't  discuss  whether  he  shall  be  removed  or 
not.     He  has  spared  you  that  trouble,  I  believe." 

Saying  so,  he  ran  up-stairs,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Tugby ;  while  Mr.  Tugby  panted  and  grumbled 
after  them  at  leisure  :  being  rendered  more  than 
commonly  short- winded  by  the  weight  of  the  till, 
in  which  there  had  been  an  inconvenient  quan- 
tity of  copper.  Trotty,  with  the  child  beside  him, 
floated  up  the  staircase  like  mere  air. 

"  Follow  her  !     Follow  her  !     Follow  her  !  "    He 


158  Christmas  Tales. 

heard  the  ghostly  voices  in  the  Bells  repeat  their 
words  as  he  ascended.  "Learn  it,  from  the  crea- 
ture dearest  to  your  heart !  " 

It  was  over.  It  was  over.  And  this  was  she, 
her  father's  pride  and  joy  !  This  haggard,  wretched 
woman,  weeping  by  the  bed,  if  it  deserved  that 
name,  and  pressing  to  her  breast,  and  hanging 
down  her  head  upon,  an  infant?  Who  can  tell 
how  spare,  how  sickly,  and  how  poor  an  infant? 
Who  can  tell  how  dear  ? 

"Thank  God!"  cried  Trotty,  holding  up  his 
folded  hands.  '*0,  God  be  thanked!  She  loves 
her  child!" 

Again  Trotty  heard  the  voices,  saying,  "  Follow 
her!"  He  turned  toward  his  guide,  and  saw  it 
rising  from  him,  passing  through  the  air.  "  Follow 
her  !  "  it  said.     And  vanished. 

He  hovered  round  her  ;  sat  down  at  her  feet ; 
looked  up  into  her  face  for  one  trace  of  her  old 
self;  listened  for  one  note  of  her  old  pleasant 
voice.  He  flitted  round  the  child  :  so  wan,  so 
prematurely  old,  so  dreadful  in  its  gravity,  so 
plaintive  in  its  feeble,  mournful,  miserable  wail. 
He  almost  worshiped  it.  He  clung  to  it  as  her 
only  safeguard  ;  as  the  last  unbroken  link  that 
bound  her  to  endurance.  He  set  his  father's  hope 
and  trust  on  the  frail  baby ;  watched  her  every 
look  upon  it  as  she  held  it  in  her  arms  ;  and  cried 
a  thousand  times,  "She  loves  it !  God  be  thanked, 
she  loves  it !  " 

He  saw  the  woman  tend  her  in  the  night ;  return 
to  her  when  her  grudging  husband  was  asleep,  and 
all  was  still  ;  encourage  her,  shed  tears  with  her, 
set  nourishment  before  her.  He  saw  the  day  come, 
and  the  night  again  ;  the  day,  the  night  ;  the  time 
go  by ;  the  house  of  death  relieved  of  death ;  the 
room  left  to  herself  and  to  the  child  ;  he  heard  it 
moan  and  cry ;  he  saw  it  harass  her,  and  tire  her 
out,  and  when  she  slumbered  in  exhaustion,  drag 


The  Chimes.  159 

her  back  to  consciousness,  and  hold  her  with  its 
Httle  hands  upon  the  rack  ;  but  she  was  constant 
to  it,  gentle  with  it,  patient  with  it.  Patient !  Was 
its  loving  mother  in  her  inmost  heart  and  soul,  and 
had  its  Being  knitted  up  with  hers  as  when  she 
carried  it  unborn. 

All  this  time,  she  was  in  want:  languishing 
away,  in  dire  and  pining  want.  With  the  baby  in 
her  arms,  she  wandered  here  and  there  in  quest  of 
occupation  ;  and  ^\'ith  its  thin  face  lying  in  her  lap, 
and  looking  up  in  hers,  did  any  work  for  any 
wretched  sum  :  a  day  and  night  of  labor  for  as 
many  farthings  as  there  were  figures  on  the  dial. 
If  she  had  quarreled  with  it ;  if  she  had  neglected 
it ;  if  she  had  looked  upon  it  with  a  moment's 
hate  !  if,  in  the  frenzy  of  an  instant,  she  had 
struck  it !  No  !  His  comfort  was,  She  loved  it 
always. 

She  told  no  one  of  her  extremity,  and  wandered 
abroad  in  the  day  lest  she  should  be  questioned  by 
her  only  friend  :  for  any  help  she  received  from 
her  hands,  occasioned  fresh  disputes  between  the 
good  woman  and  her  husband  ;  and  it  was  new 
bitterness  to  be  the  daily  cause  of  strife  and  discord, 
where  she  owed  so  much. 

She  loved  it  still.  She  loved  it  more  and  more. 
But  a  change  fell  on  the  aspect  of  her  love. 

One  night  she  was  singing  faintly  to  it  in  its 
sleep  and  walking  to  and  fro  to  hush  it,  when 
her  door  was  softly  opened,  and  a  man  looked 
in, 

"For  the  last  time,"  he  said. 

"  William  Fern  !  " 

"  For  the  last  time." 

He  listened  like  a  man  pursued :  and  spoke  in 
whispers. 

''  Margaret,  my  race  is  nearly  run.  I  couldn't 
finish  it,  without  a  parting  word  with  you.  With- 
out one  grateful  word." 


160  Christmas  Tales. 

"What  have  you  done?"  she  asked:  regarding 
him  with  terror. 

He  looked  at  her  but  gave  no  answer. 

After  a  short  silence,  he  made  a  gesture  with  his 
hand,  as  if  he  set  her  question  by  ;  as  if  he  brushed 
it  aside  ;  and  said  : 

"  It's  long  ago,  Margaret,  now;  but  that  night 
is  as  fresh  in  my  memory  as  ever  'twas.  We  little 
thought  then,"  he  added,  looking  round,  "that 
we  should  ever  meet  like  this.  Your  child,  Mar- 
garet ?  Let  me  have  it  in  my  arms.  Let  me  hold 
your  child." 

He  put  his  hat  upon  the  floor,  and  took  it.  And 
he  trembled  as  he  took  it,  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Is  it  a  girl?  " 

"Yes." 

He  put  his  hand  before  its  little  face. 

"See  how  weak  I'm  grown,  Margaret,  when  I 
want  the  courage  to  look  at  it !  Let  her  be,  a 
i  moment.  I  won't  hurt  her.  It's  long  ago,  but — 
What's  her  name  ?  ' ' 

"  Margaret,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said.    "  I'm  glad  of  that !" 

He  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely  ;  and  after 
pausing  for  an  instant,  took  away  his  hand,  and 
looked  upon  the  infant's  face.  But  covered  it 
again,  immediately. 

"Margaret!  "  he  said;  and  gave  her  back  the 
child.     "  It's  Lilian's." 

"Lilian's!  " 

"  I  held  the  same  face  in  my  arms  when  Lilian's 
mother  died  and  left  her." 

"  When  Lilian's  mother  died  and  left  her  !  "  she 
repeated,  wildly. 

"  How  shrill  you  speak  !  Why  do  you  fix  your 
eyes  upon  me  so  ?     Margaret  !  " 

She  sunk  down  in  a  chair,  and  pressed  the  infant 
to  her  breast,  and  wept  over  it.  Sometimes,  she 
released  it  from  her  embrace,  to  look  anxiously  in 


The  Chimes.  161 

its  face  :  then  strained  it  to  her  bosom  again.  At 
those  times,  when  she  gazed  upon  it,  then  it  was 
that  something  fierce  and  terrible  began  to  mingle 
with  her  love.  Then  it  was  that  her  old  father 
quailed. 

"  Follow  her  !  "  was  sounded  through  the  house. 
' '  Learn  it,  from  the  creature  dearest  to  your 
heart!" 

"Margaret,"  said  Fern,  bending  over  her,  and 
kissing  her  upon  the  brow  :  "I  thank  you  for  the 
last  time.  Good  night.  Good  bye  !  Put  your 
hand  in  mine,  and  tell  me  you'll  forget  me  from 
this  hour,  and  try  to  think  the  end  of  me  was 
here." 

She  called  to  him  ;  but  he  was  gone.  She  sat 
down  stupefied,  until  her  infant  roused  her  to  a 
sense  of  hunger,  cold,  and  darkness.  She  paced 
the  room  with  it  the  livelong  night,  hushing  it  and 
soothing  it.  She  said  at  intervals,  "  Like  Lilian 
when  her  mother  died  and  left  her  !  "  Why  was 
her  step  so  quick,  her  eyes  so  wild,  her  love  so 
fierce  and  terrible,  whenever  she  repeated  those 
words  ? 

"But,  it  is  Love,"  said  Trotty.  "It  is  Love. 
She'll  never  cease  to  love  it.     My  poor  Meg !  " 

She  dressed  the  child  next  morning  with  unusual 
care — ah,  vain  expenditure  of  care  upon  such 
squalid  robes  ! — and  once  more  tried  to  find  some 
means  of  life.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  Old  Year. 
She  tried  till  night,  and  never  broke  her  fast.  She 
tried  in  vain. 

She  mingled  with  an  abject  crowd,  who  tarried 
in  the  snow,  until  it  pleased  some  ofi&cer  appointed 
to  dispense  the  public  charity  (the  lawful  charity  ; 
not  that  once  preached  upon  a  Mount\  to  call  them 
in,  and  question  them,  and  say  to  this  one,  "  Go  to 
such  a  place,"  to  that  one,  "  Come  next  week  ;"  to 
make  a  foot-ball  of  another  wretch,  and  pass  him 
here  and  there,  from  hand  to  hand,  from   house 


162  Christmas  Tales. 

to  house,  until  he  wearied  and  lay  down  to  die  ; 
or  started  up  and  robbed,  and  so  became  a  higher 
sort  of  criminal,  whose  claims  allowed  of  no  delay. 
Here,  too,  she  failed. 

She  loved  her  child,  and  wished  to  have  it  lying 
on  her  breast.     And  that  was  quite  enough. 

It  was  night :  a  bleak,  dark,  cutting  night  :  when 
pressing  the  child  close  to  her  for  warmth,  she 
arrived  outside  the  house  she  called  her  home.  She 
was  so  faint  and  giddy,  that  she  saw  no  one  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway  until  she  was  close  upon  it, 
and  about  to  enter.  Then,  she  recognized  the 
master  of  the  house,  who  had  so  disposed  himself 
— with  his  person  it  was  not  difi&cult — as  to  fill  up 
the  whole  entry. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said  softly.    '  *  You  have  come  back  ? ' ' 

She  looked  at  the  child  and  shook  her  head. 

"Don't  you  think  you  have  lived  here  long 
enough  without  paying  any  rent  ?  Don't  you  think 
that,  without  any  money,  j'ou've  been  a  pretty  con- 
stant customer  at  this  shop,  now  ?  "  said  Mr.  Tugby. 

She  repeated  the  same  mute  appeal. 

"Suppose  you  try  and  deal  somewhere  else,"  he 
said.  "And  suppose  you  provide  yourself  with 
another  lodging.  Come  !  Don't  you  think  you 
could  manage  it  ?  " 

She  said,  in  a  low  voice,  that  it  was  very  late. 
To-morrow. 

"  Now  I  see  what  you  want,"  said  Tugby  ;  "and 
what  you  mean.  You  know  there  are  two  parties 
in  this  house  about  you,  and  you  delight  in  setting 
them  by  the  ears.  I  don't  want  any  quarrels  ;  I'm 
speaking  softly  to  avoid  a  quarrel ;  but  if  you  don't 
go  away,  I'll  speak  out  loud,  and  you  shall  cause 
words  loud  enough  to  please  you.  But  you  shan't 
come  in,  that  I  am  determined." 

She  put  her  hair  back  with  her  hand,  and  looked 
in  a  sudden  manner  at  the  sky,  and  the  dark  lower- 
inff  distance. 


The  Chimes.  163 

"This  is  the  last  night  of  an  Old  Year,  and  I  won't 
carry  ill-blood  and  quarrelings  and  disturbances 
into  a  New  One,  to  please  you  nor  anybody  else," 
said  Tugby,  who  was  quite  a  retail  Friend  and 
Father.  *'  I  wonder  you  an't  ashamed  of  yourself, 
to  carry  such  practices  into  a  New  Year.  If  you 
haven't  any  business  in  the  world,  but  to  be  always 
giving  way,  and  always  making  disturbances  be- 
tween man  and  wife,  you'd  be  better  out  of  it.  Go 
along  with  you  !  " 

"  Follow  her  !     To  desperation  !  " 

Again  the  old  man  heard  the  voices.  Looking 
up,  he  saw  the  figures  hovering  in  the  air,  and 
pointing  where  she  went,  down  the  dark  street. 

"  She  loves  it !  "  he  exclaimed  in  agonized  en- 
treaty for  her.     "  Chimes  !  she  loves  it  still  !  " 

"  Follow  her  !  "  The  shadows  swept  upon  the 
track  she  had  taken  like  a  cloud. 

Oh,  forsomething  to  awaken  her  I  For  any  sight 
or  sound,  or  scent,  to  call  up  tender  recollections 
in  a  brain  on  fire  !  For  any  gentle  image  of 
the  Past,  to  rise  up  before  her  ! 

"  I  was  her  father  !  I  was  her  father  !  "  cried 
the  old  man,  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  dark 
shadows  flying  on  above.  "  Have  mercy  on  her, 
and  on  me  !  Where  does  she  go  ?  Turn  her  back  ! 
I  was  her  father  !  " 

But,  they  only  pointed  to  her,  as  she  hurried  on  ; 
"To  desperation!  Learn  it  from  the  creature 
dearest  to  5'our  heart !  " 

A  hundred  voices  echoed  it.  The  air  was  made 
of  breath  expended  in  those  words.  He  seemed  to 
take  them  in,  at  every  gasp  he  drew.  They  were 
everywhere,  and  not  to  be  escaped.  And  still  she 
hurried  on  ;  the  same  light  in  her  eyes. 

All  at  once  she  stopped. 

"  Now,  turn  her  back  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
tearing  his  white  hair.  "  My  child  !  Meg!  Turn 
her  back  1     Great  Father,  turn  her  back  !  " 


164  Christmas  Tales. 

In  her  own  scanty  shawl,  she  wrapped  the  baby 
■warm.  With  her  fevered  hands,  she  smoothed  its 
limbs,  composed  its  face,  arranged  its  mean  attire. 
In  her  wasted  arms  she  folded  it,  as  though  she 
never  would  resign  it  more.  And  with  her  dry 
lips,  kissed  it  in  a  final  pang,  and  last  long  agony 
of  Love. 

Putting  its  tiny  hand  up  to  her  neck,  and  hold- 
ing it  there, within  her  dress,  next  to  her  distracted 
heart,  she  set  its  sleeping  face  against  her  :  closely, 
steadily  against  her  :  and  sped  onward  to  the  river. 

To  the  rolling  River,  swift  and  dim,  where  Win- 
ter Night  sat  brooding  like  the  last  dark  thoughts 
of  many  who  had  sought  a  refuge  there  before  her. 
Where  scattered  lights  upon  the  banks  gleamed 
sullen,  red  and  dull,  as  torches  that  were  burning 
there  to  show  the  way  to  Death.  Where  no  abode 
of  living  people  cast  its  shadow,  on  the  deep,  im- 
penetrable, melancholy  shade. 

To  the  River  !  To  that  portal  of  Eternity,  her 
desperate  footsteps  tended  with  the  swiftness  of  its 
rapid  waters  running  to  the  sea.  He  tried  to  touch 
her  as  she  passed  him,  going  down  to  iis  dark  level; 
but,  the  wild  distempered  form,  the  fierce  and  ter- 
rible love,  the  desperation  that  had  Uft  all  humaa 
check  or  hold  behind,  swept  by  him  like  the  wind. 

He  followed  her.  She  paused  a  moment  on  the 
brink,  before  the  dreadful  plunge.  He  fell  down  on 
his  knees,  and  in  a  shriek  addressed  the  figures  in 
the  Bells  now  hovering  above  them. 

"Have  mercy  on  her  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  as  one 
in  whom  this  dreadful  crime  has  sprung  from  Love 
perverted  ;  from  the  strongest,  deepest  Love  we 
fallen  creatures  know  !  Think  what  her  misery 
must  have  been,  when  such  seed  bears  such  fruit. 
Heaven  meant  her  to  be  good.  There  is  no  loving 
mother  on  the  earth  who  might  not  come  to  this, 
if  such  a  life  had  gone  before.  Oh,  have  mercy  on 
my  child,  who,  even  at  this  pass,  means  mercy  to 


The  Chimes.  165 

her  own,  and  dies  herself,  and  perils  her  immortal 
soul,  to  save  it !" 

She  was  in  his  arms.  He  held  her  now.  His 
strength  was  like  a  giant's. 

He  might  have  said  more  ;  but  the  Bells,  the  old 
familiar  Bells,  his  own  dear,  constant,  steady 
friends,  the  Chimes,  began  to  ring  the  joy-peals  for 
a  New  Year  ;  so  lustily,  so  merrily,  so  happily,  so 
gayly,  that  he  leapt  upon  his  feet,  and  broke  the 
spell  that  bound  him. 


"And  whatever  you  do,  father,"  said  Meg, 
"don't  eat  tripe  again  without  asking  some  doctor 
whether  it's  likely  to  agree  with  you  ;  for  how  you 
have  been  going  on,  Good  gracious  !  " 

She  was  working  with  her  needle  at  the  little 
table  by  the  fire,  dressing  her  simple  gown  with 
ribbons  for  her  wedding.  So  quietly  happ)^,  so 
blooming  and  youthful,  so  full  of  beautiful  prom- 
ise, that  he  uttered  a  great  cry  as  if  it  were  an 
Angel  in  his  house  ;  then  fiew  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms. 

But  he  caught  his  feet  in  the  newspaper,  which 
had  fallen  on  the  hearth,  and  r'^mebody  came  rush- 
ing in  between  them. 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  voice  of  this  same  somebody  ; 
a  generous  and  jolly  voice  it  was.  "  Not  even  you. 
Not  even  you.  The  first  kiss  of  Meg  in  the  New 
Year  is  mme.  Mine  !  I  have  been  waiting  outside 
the  house  this  hour  to  hear  the  Bells  and  claim  it. 
Meg,  my  precious  prize,  a  happy  year  !  A  life  of 
happy  3'ears,  my  darling  wife  !  " 

And  Richard  smothered  her  with  kisses. 

You  never  in  all  your  life  saw  anything  like 
Trotty  after  this.  I  don't  care  where  you  have 
lived  or  what  you  have  seen,  you  never  in  all  your 
life  saw  anything  at  all  approaching  him  !  He  sat 
down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees  and  cried  ;  he  sat 


166  Christmas  Tales. 

down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees  and  laughed  ; 
he  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees  and 
laughed  and  cried  together  ;  he  got  out  of  his  chair 
and  hugged  Meg  ;  he  got  out  of  his  chair  and 
hugged  Richard ;  he  got  out  of  his  chair  and 
hugged  them  both  at  once  ;  he  kept  running  up  to 
Meg  and  squeezing  her  fresh  face  between  his 
hands  and  kissing  it,  going  from  her  backward 
not  to  lose  sight  of  it,  and  running  up  again  like  a 
figure  in  a  magic  lantern  ;  and  whatever  he  did,  he 
was  constantly  sitting  himself  down  in  this  chair, 
and  never  stopping  in  it  for  one  single  moment, 
being — that's  the  truth — beside  himself  with  joy. 

"  And  to-morrow's  your  wedding-day,  my  pet !" 
cried  Trotty.     "Your  real,  happy  wedding-day  !  " 

"To-day!"  cried  Richard,  shaking  hands  with 
him.  "To-day.  The  Chimes  are  ringing  in  the 
New  Year.     Hear  them  !  " 

They  were  ringing  !  Bless  their  sturdy  hearts, 
they  WERE  ringing  !  Great  Bells  as  they  were ; 
melodious,  deep-mouthed,  noble  Bells  ;  cast  in  no 
common  metal ;  made  by  no  common  founder ; 
when  had  they  ever  chimed  like  that  before  ? 

"  But  to-day,  my  pet,"  said  Trotty.  "  You  and 
Richard  had  some  words  to-day." 

"Because  he's  such  a  bad  fellow,  father,"  said 
Meg.  "An't  you,  Richard?  Such  a  headstrong, 
violent  man  !  He'd  have  made  no  more  of  speak- 
ing his  mind  to  that  great  Alderman,  and  putting 
him  down  I  don't  know  where,  than  he  would 
of—" 

" — Kissing  Meg,"  suggested  Richard.  Doing 
it,  too. 

"No.  Not  a  bit  more,"  said  Meg.  "But  I 
wouldn't  let  him,  father.  Where  would  have  been 
the  use  ? ' ' 

'*  Richard,  my  boy  !  "  cried  Trotty.  "  You  was 
turned  up  Trumps  originally,  and  Trumps  you  must 
be  until  you  die  !     But  you  were  crying  by  the  fire 


The  Chimes.  167 

to-night,  my  pet,  when  I  came  home.  Why  did 
you  cry  by  the  fire  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  years  we've  passed  to- 
gether, father.  Only  that.  And  thinkmg  you 
might  miss  me,  and  be  lonely." 

Trotty  was  backing  off  to  that  extraordinary 
chair  again,  when  the  child,  who  had  been  awak- 
ened by  the  noise,  came  running  in,  half  dressed. 

"  Why,  here  she  is  !  "  cried  Trotty  catching  her 
up.  "Here's  little  Lilian  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Here  we 
are  and  here  we  go  !  O,  here  we  are  and  here  we 
go  again  !  And  here  we  are  and  here  we  go  !  And 
Uncle  Will,  too  !  "  Stopping  in  his  trot  to  greet 
him  heartily.  '*  O,  Uncle  Will,  the  vision  that  I've 
had  to-night,  through  lodging  you  !  O,  Uncle 
Will,  the  obligations  that  you've  laid  me  under  by 
your  coming,  my  good  friend  !  " 

Before  Will  Fern  could  make  the  least  reply,  a 
band  of  music  burst  into  the  room,  attended  by  a 
flock  of  neighbors,  screaming  :  "A  Happy  New 
Year,  Meg  !  "  "A  Happy  Wedding  !  "  ''  Many  of 
'em  !  "  and  other  tragmentary  good  wishes  of  that 
sort.  The  Drum  (who  was  a  private  friend  of 
Trotty's)  then  stepped  forward  and  said  : 

' '  Trotty  Veck,  my  boy  !  It's  got  about  that  your 
daughter  is  going  to  be  married  to-morrow.  There 
an't  a  soul  that  knows  you  that  don't  wish  you 
well,  or  that  knows  her  and  don't  wish  her  well. 
Or  that  knows  you  both  and  don't  wish  you  both 
all  the  happiness  the  New  Year  can  bring.  And 
here  we  are,  to  play  it  in  accordingly." 

"  What  a  happiness  it  is,  I'm  sure,"  said  Trotty, 
"to  be  so  esteemed.  How  kind  and  neighborly 
you  are  !  It's  all  along  of  my  dear  daughter.  She 
deserves  it." 

At  this  moment  a  combination  of  prodigious 
sounds  was  heard  outside,  and  a  good-humored, 
comely  woman  of  some  fifty  years  of  age,  or  there- 
abouts, came  running  in,  closely  followed  by  the 


168  ChriAslmas  Tales. 

marrow-bones  and  cleavers  and  the  bells — not  the 
Bells,  but  a  portable  collection  on  a  frame. 

Trotty  said  :  "  It's  Mrs.  Chickenstalker  !  "  And 
sat  down  and  beat  his  knees  again. 

"Married,  and  not  tell  me,  Meg!"  cried  the 
good  woman.  "Never!  I  couldn't  rest  on  the 
last  night  of  the  Old  Year  without  coming  to  wish 
you  joy.  I  couldn't  have  done  it,  Meg.  Not  if  I 
had  been  bed-ridden.     So  here  I  am." 

"  Mrs.  Tugby,"  said  Trotty,  who  had  been  going 
round  and  round  her  in  an  ecstasy — "  I  should  say 
Chickenstalker — bless  your  heart  and  soul !  A 
happy  New  Year,  and  many  of  'em  !  Mrs.  Tugby, ' ' 
said  Trotty,  when  he  had  saluted  her — "  I  should 
say  Chickenstalker — this  is  "William  Fern  and 
Lilian." 

The  worthy  dame,  to  his  surprise,  turned  very 
pale  and  very  red. 

• '  Not  Lilian  Fern,  whose  mother  died  in  Dorset- 
shire ?  "  said  she. 

Her  uncle  answered  "Yes,"  and  meeting  hastily 
they  exchanged  some  hurried  words  together,  of 
which  the  upshot  was  that  Mrs.  Chickenstalker 
shook  him  by  both  hands,  saluted  Trotty  on  his 
cheek  again  of  her  own  free  will,  and  took  the 
child  to  her  capacious  breast. 

"Will  Fern,"  said  Trotty,  pulling  on  his  right- 
hand  muffler.  "Not  the  friend  that  you  was  hop- 
ing to  find?  " 

"  Ay,"  returned  Will,  putting  a  hand  on  each  of 
Trotty's  shoulders.  "  And  like  to  prove  a'most  as 
good  a  friend,  if  that  can  be,  as  one  I  found." 

"  O  !  "  said  1" rotty.  "  Please  to  play  up  there. 
Will  you  have  the  goodness  ?  " 

Had  Trotty  dreamed?  Or  are  his  joys  and  sor- 
rows, and  the  actors  in  them,  but  a  dream  ;  himself 
a  dream  ;  the  teller  of  thip  tale  a  dreamer,  waking 
but  now  ?  If  it  be  so,  O  li^cener,  dear  to  him  in  all 
his  visions,  try  to  bear  in  mind  the  stern  realities 


The  Chimes.  169 

from  which  these  shadows  come  ;  and  in  your 
sphere — none  is  too  wide  and  none  too  limited  for 
such  an  end — endeavor  to  correct,  improve  and 
soften  them.  So  may  the  New  Year  be  a  happy 
one  to  you,  happy  to  many  more  whose  happiness 
depends  on  you  !  So  may  each  year  be  happier 
than  the  last,  and  not  the  meanest  of  our  brethren 
or  sisterhood  debarred  their  rightful  share  in  what 
our  great  Creator  formed  them  to  enjoy. 


170  Christmas  Tales. 

BILLY'S  SANTA  CLAUS  EXPERIENCE. 

BY  CORNEI.IA  REDMOND. 

Of  course  I  don't  believe  in  any  such  person  as 
Santa  Claus,  but  Tommy  does.  Tommy  is  my 
little  brother,  aged  six.  Last  Christmas  I  thought 
I'd  make  some  fun  for  the  young  one  by  playing 
Santa  Claus,  but  as  always  happens  when  I  try 
to  amuse  anybody  I  jes'  got  myself  into  trouble. 

I  went  to  bed  pretty  early  on  Christmas  Eve  so 
as  to  give  my  parents  a  chance  to  get  the  presents 
out  of  the  closet  in  mamma's  room,  where  they  had 
been  locked  up  since  they  were  bought.  I  kep' 
my  clo'es  on  except  my  shoes,  and  put  my  night- 
gown over  them  so  as  I'd  look  white  if  any  of  them 
came  near  me.  Then  I  waited,  pinchin'  myself 
to  keep  awake.  After  a  while  papa  came  into  the 
room  with  a  lot  of  things  that  he  dumped  on 
Tommy's  bed.  Then  mamma  came  in  and  put 
some  things  on  mine  and  in  our  two  stockings  that 
were  hung  up  by  the  chimney.  Then  they  both 
'  went  out  very  quiet,  and  soon  all  the  lights  went 
out  too. 

I  kep'  on  pinchin'  myself  and  waitin'  for  a  time, 
and  then  when  I  was  sure  that  everybody  was 
asleep  I  got  up.  The  first  thing  I  went  into  was 
my  sister's  room  and  got  her  white  fur  rug  that 
mamma  gave  her  on  her  birthday,  and  her  seal- 
skin cape  that  was  hanging  on  the  closet  door.  I 
tied  the  cape  on  my  head  with  shoestrings  and  it 
made  a  good  big  cap.  Then  I  put  the  fur  rug 
around  me  and  pinned  it  with  big  safety  pins 
what  I  found  on  Tommy's  garters.  Then  I  got 
mamma's  new  scrap-basket,  trimmed  with  roses, 
what  Mrs.  Simmons  'broidered  for  the  church  fair 
and  piled  all  of  the  kid's  toys  into  it.     I  fastened  it 


Billyhs  Santa  Claus  Experience.        171 

to  my  back  with  papa's  suspenders,  and  then  I 
started  for  the  roof. 

I  hurt  my  fingers  some  opening  the  scuttle,  but 
kept  right  on.  It  was  snowing  hard  and  I  stood 
and  let  myself  get  pretty  well  covered  with  flakes. 
Then  I  crawled  over  to  the  chimney  that  went 
down  into  our  room  and  climbed  up  on  top  of  it. 
I  had  brought  my  bicycle  lantern  with  me  and  I 
lighted  it  so  as  Tommy  could  see  me  when  I  came 
down  the  chimney  into  the  room. 

There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  places  inside  the 
chimney  where  I  could  hold  on  by  my  feet,  but  the 
ceiling  in  our  room  was  not  very  high  and  I  had 
often  jumped  most  as  far,  so  I  jes'  let  her  go,  and 
I  suppose  I  went  down.  Anyway,  I  did  not  know 
about  anything  for  a  long  time.  Then  I  woke  up 
all  in  the  dark  with  my  head  feeling  queer,  and 
when  I  tried  to  turn  over  in  bed  I  found  I  wasn't 
in  bed  at  all,  and  then  my  arms  and  legs  began  to 
hurt  terrible,  mostly  one  arm  that  was  doubled  up. 
I  tried  to  get  up  but  I  couldn't  because  my  bones 
hurt  so  and  I  was  terrible  cold  and  there  was  noth- 
ing to  stand  on.  I  was  jes'  stuck.  Then  I  began 
to  cry,  and  pretty  soon  I  heard  mamma's  voice 
saying  to  papa  : 

"Those  must  be  sparrers  that  are  making  that 
noise  in  the  chimney.  Jes'  touch  a  match  to  the 
wood  in  the  boys'  fireplace." 

I  heard  papa  strike  a  light  and  then  the  wood 
began  to  crackle.  Then,  by  jinks  !  it  began  to  get 
hot  and  smoky  and  I  screamed  : 

"Help  !  Murder  !  Put  out  that  fire  lest  you  want 
to  burn  me  up  !  " 

Then  I  heard  papa  stamping  on  the  wood  and 
mamma  calling  out : 

"Where's  Billy  ?     Where  is  my  chile  ?  " 

Next  Tommy  woke  up  and  began  to  cry  and 
everything  was  terrible,  specially  the  pains  all 
over  me.     Then  papa  called  out  very  stem  : 


172  Chinstnias  Tales. 

"William,  if  you  are  in  tiiat  chimney  come 
down  at  once  !  "  and  I  answered,  cryin',  that  I 
would  if  I  could,  but  I  was  stuck  and  couldn't. 

Then  I  heard  papa  gettin'  dressed,  and  pretty 
soon  he  and  John  from  the  stable  went  up  on  the 
roof  and  let  down  ropes  what  I  put  around  me  and 
they  hauled  me  up. 

It  was  jes'  daylight  and  I  was  all  black  and 
sooty  and  scratched  and  my  arm  was  broken. 

Everybody  scolded  me  excep'  mamma.  I  had 
spoiled  my  sister's  white  rug  and  broken  all  of 
Tommy's  toys,  and  the  snow  what  went  in  through 
the  scuttle  melted  and  marked  the  parlor  ceiling, 
besides  I  guess  it  cost  papa  a  good  deal  to  get  my 
arm  mended.  Nobody  would  believe  that  I  had 
jes'  meant  to  make  some  fun  for  Tommy,  and  my 
arm  and  all  my  bruised  places  hurt  me  awful  for  a 
long  time.  If  I  live  to  be  a  million  I  am  never 
goin'  to  play  Santa  Claus  ag'in. 


Christmas  in  Poganuc,  173 


CHRISTMAS  IN  POGANUC. 
by  harriet  beecher  stowe. 

The  First  Christmas. 

Can  any  of  us  look  back  to  the  earlier  days  of 
our  mortal  pilgrimage  and  remember  the  helpless 
sense  of  desolation  and  loneliness  caused  by  being 
forced  to  go  off  to  the  stillness  and  darkness  of  a 
solitary  bed  far  from  all  the  beloved  voices  and 
employments  and  sights  of  life  ?  Can  we  remem- 
ber lying,  hearing  distant  voices,  and  laughs  of 
more  fortunate,  older  people  and  the  opening  and 
shutting  of  distant  doors,  that  told  of  scenes  of 
animation  and  interest  from  which  we  were  exclud- 
ed ?  How  doleful  sounded  the  tick  of  the  clock, 
and  how  dismal  was  the  darkness  as  sunshine  faded 
from  the  window,  leaving  only  a  square  of  dusky 
dimness  in  place  of  da^^light ! 

All  who  remember  these  will  sympathize  with 
Dolly,  who  was  hustled  off  to  bed  by  Nabby  the 
minute  supper  was  over,  that  she  might  have  the 
decks  clear  for  action. 

"Now  be  a  good  girl  ;  shut  your  eyes,  and  say 
your  prayers,  and  go  right  to  sleep,"  had  been 
Nabby 's  parting  injunction  as  she  went  out^  closing 
the  door  after  her. 

The  little  head  sunk  into  the  pillow,  and  Dolly 
recited  her  usual  liturgy  of  ' '  Our  Father  who  art 
in  heaven,"  and  "I  pray  God  to  bless  my  dear 
father  and  mother  and  all  my  dear  friends  and  re- 
lations, and  make  me  a  good  girl,"  and  ending 
with 

"  ' Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep.'  " 


174  Christmas  Tales. 

But  sleep  she  could  not.  The  wide,  bright,  wist- 
ful blue  eyes  lay  shining  like  two  stars  toward  the 
fading  light  in  the  window,  and  the  little  ears  were 
strained  to  catch  every  sound.  She  heard  the  shouts 
of  Tom  and  Bill  and  the  loud  barking  of  Spring  as 
they  swept  out  of  the  door  ;  and  the  sound  went  to 
her  heart.  Spring — her  faithful  attendant,  the  most 
loving  and  sympathetic  of  dogs,  her  friend  and 
confidential  counselor  in  many  a  solitary  ramble 
— Spring  had  gone  with  the  boys  to  see  the  sight, 
and  left  her  alone.  She  began  to  pity  herself  and 
cry  softly  on  her  pillow.  For  a  while  she  could 
hear  Nabby's  energetic  movements  below,  washing 
up  dishes,  putting  back  chairs,  and  giving  energetic 
thumps  and  bangs  here  and  there,  as  her  way 
was  of  producing  order.  But  by  and  by  that  was 
all  over,  and  she  heard  the  loud  shutting  of  the 
kitchen  door  and  Nabby's  voice  chatting  with 
her  attendant  as  she  went  off  to  the  scene  of 
gaiety. 

In  those  simple,  innocent  days  in  New  England 
villages  nobody  thought  of  locking  house  doors  at 
night.  There  was  in  those  times  no  idea  either  of 
tramps  or  burglars,  and  many  a  night  in  summer 
had  Dolly  lain  awake  and  heard  the  voices  of  tree- 
toads  and  whip-poor-wills  mingling  with  the  whis- 
per of  leaves  and  the  swaying  of  elm  boughs,  while 
the  great  outside  door  of  the  house  lay  broad  open 
in  the  moonlight.  But  then  this  was  when  every- 
body was  in  the  house  and  asleep,  when  the  door 
of  her  parents'  room  stood  open  on  the  front  hall, 
and  she  knew  she  could  run  to  the  paternal  bed  in 
a  minute  for  protection.  Now,  however,  she  knew 
the  house  was  empty.  Everybody  had  gone  out 
of  it  ;  and  there  is  something  fearful  to  a  little 
lonely  body  in  the  possibilities  of  a  great,  empty 
house.  She  got  up  and  opened  her  door,  and  the 
"tick-tock"  of  the  old  kitchen  clock  for  a  moment 
seemed  like  company  ;  but  pretty  soon  its  ticking 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  175 

began  to  strike  louder  and  louder  with  a  nervous 
insistency  on  her  ear,  till  the  nerves  quivered  and 
vibrated,  and  she  couldn't  go  to  sleep.  She  lay 
and  listened  to  all  the  noises  outside.  It  was  a  still, 
clear,  freezing  night,  when  the  least  sound  clinked 
with  a  metallic  resonance.  She  heard  the  runners 
of  sleighs  squeaking  and  crunching  over  the  frozen 
road,  and  the  lively  jingle  of  bells.  They  would 
come  nearer,  nearer,  pass  by  the  house,  and  go  off 
in  the  distance.  Those  were  the  happy  folks  going 
to  see  the  gold  star  and  the  Christmas  greens  in  the 
church.  The  gold  star,  the  Christmas  greens,  had 
all  the  more  attraction  from  their  vagueness.  Dolly 
was  a  fanciful  little  creature,  and  the  clear  air  and 
romantic  scenery  of  a  mountain  town  had  fed  her 
imagination.  Stories  she  had  never  read,  except 
in  the  Bible  and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  but  her 
very  soul  had  vibrated  with  the  descriptions  of  the 
celestial  city— something  vague,  bright,  glorious, 
lying  beyond  some  dark  river  ;  and  Nabby's  rude 
account  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  church  sug- 
gested those  images. 

Finally  a  bright  thought  popped  into  her  little 
head.  She  could  see  the  church  from  the  front 
windows  of  the  house  ;  she  would  go  there  and 
look.  In  haste  she  sprang  out  of  bed  and  dressed 
herself.  It  was  sharp  and  freezing  in  the  fireless 
chamber,  but  Dolly's  blood  had  a  racing,  healthy 
tingle  to  it ;  she  didn't  mind  cold.  She  wrapped 
her  cloak  around  her  and  tied  on  her  hood  and  ran 
to  the  front  windows.  There  it  was,  to  be  sure — 
the  little  church  with  its  sharp-pointed  windows,- 
every  pane  of  which  was  sending  streams  of  light 
across  the  glittering  snow.  There  was  a  crowd 
around  the  door,  and  men  and  boys  looking  in 
at  the  windows.  Dolly's  soul  was  fired.  But 
the  elm  boughs  a  little  obstructed  her  vision  ;  she 
thought  she  would  go  down  and  look  at  it  from  the 
yard.     So  down-stairs  she  ran,  but  as  she  opened 


176  Christmas  Tales. 

the  door  the  sound  of  the  chant  rolled  out  into  the 
darkness  with  sweet  and  solemn  cadence  : 

"  Glory  be  to  God  on  high  ;  and  on  earth  peace y 
goodwill  tozuard  nietiy 

Dolly's  soul  was  all  aglow — her  nerves  tingled 
and  vibrated  ;  she  thought  of  the  bells  ringing  in 
the  celestial  city  ;  she  could  no  longer  contain  her- 
self, but  faster  and  faster  the  little  hooded  form 
scudded  across  the  snowy  plain  and  pushed  in 
among  the  dark  cluster  of  spectators  at  the  door. 
All  made  way  for  the  child,  and  in  a  moment, 
whether  in  the  body  or  out  she  could  not  tell, 
Dolly  was  sitting  in  a  little  nook  under  a  bower  of 
spruce,  gazing  at  the  star  and  listening  to  the 
voices  : 

"  We  praise  Thee,  we  bless  Thee,  we  worship 
Thee,  we  glorify  Thee,  we  give  thajiks  to  Thee  for 
Thy  great  glory,  O  Loid  God,  Heavenly  King^ 
God,  the  Father  Almighty.'' 

Her  heait  throbbed  and  beat ;  she  trembled  with 
a  strange  happiness  and  sat  as  one  entranced  till 
the  music  was  over.  Then  came  reading,  the 
rustle  and  murmur  of  people  kneeling,  and  then 
they  all  rose  and  there  was  the  solemn  buzz  of 
voices  repeating  the  Creed  with  a  curious  lulling 
sound  to  her  ear.  There  was  old  Mr.  Dan  forth 
with  his  spectacles  on,  reading  with  a  pompous 
tone,  as  if  to  witness  a  good  confession  for  the 
church  ;  and  there  were  Squire  Lewis  and  old 
Ma'am  Lewis ;  and  there  was  one  place  where 
they  all  bowed  their  heads  and  all  the  ladies  made 
courtesies — all  of  which  entertained  her  mightily. 

When  the  sermon  began  Dolly  got  fast  asleep, 
and  slept  as  quietly  as  a  pet  lamb  in  a  meadow, 
lying  in  a  little  warm  roll  back  under  the  shadows 
of  the  spruces.  She  was  so  tired  and  so  sound 
asleep  that  she  did  not  wake  when  the  service 
ended,  lying  serenely  curled  up,  and  having  per- 
haps pleasant  dreams.     She  might  have  had  the 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  Ill 

fortunes  of  little  Goody  Two-Shoes,  whose  history- 
was  detailed  in  one  of  the  few  children's  books  then 
printed,  had  not  two  friends  united  to  find  her  out. 

Spring,  who  had  got  into  the  slip  with  the  boys, 
and  been  an  equally  attentive  and  edified  listener, 
after  service  began  a  tour  of  investigation,  dog- 
fashion,  with  his  nose  ;  for  how  could  a  minister's 
dog  form  a  suitable  judgment  of  any  new  pro- 
cedure if  he  was  repressed  from  the  use  of  his  own 
leading  faculty  ?  So,  Spring  went  round  the 
church,  conscientiously,  smelling'  at  pew  doors, 
Amelling  of  the  greens,  smelling  at  the  heels  of 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  till  he  came  near  the  door 
of  the  church,  when  he  suddenly  smelt  something 
which  called  for  immediate  attention,  and  he  made 
a  side  dart  into  the  thicket  where  Dolly  was  sleep- 
ing, and  began  licking  her  face  and  hands  and 
pulling  her  dress,  giving  short  barks  occasionally, 
as  if  to  say,  "Come,  Dolly,  wake  up!"  At  the 
same  instant  Hiel,  who  had  seen  her  from  the 
gallery,  came  down  just  as  the  little  one  was  sit- 
ting up  with  a  dazed,  bewildered  air. 

"Why,  Dolly,  how  came  you  out  o'  bed  this  time 
o' night?  Don't  ye  know  the  nine  o'clock  bell's 
jest  rung?  " 

Dolly  knew  Hiel  well  enough — what  child  in  the 
village  did  not  ?  She  reached  up  her  little  hands, 
saying  in  an  apologetic  fashion  : 

"  They  were  all  gone  away,  and  I  was  so  lone- 
some ! ' ' 

Hiel  took  her  up  in  his  long  arms  and  carried 
her  home,  and  was  just  entering  the  house  door 
with  her  as  the  sleigh  drove  up  with  Parson  Gush- 
ing atid  his  wife. 

''Wal,  Parson,  your  folks  has  all  ben  to  the 
'lumination — Nabby  and  Bill  and  Tom  and  Dolly 
here  ;  found  her  all  rolled  up  in  a  heap  like  a  rab- 
bit under  the  cedars." 

"Why,  Dolly  Gushing  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother. 


178  Christmas  Tales. 

**  What  upon  earth  got  you  out  of  bed  this  time  of 
night?     You'll  catch  your  death   o' cold." 

"I  was  all  alone,"  said  Dolly,  with  a  piteous 
bleat. 

"Oh,  there,  there,  wife  ;  don't  say  a  word,"  put 
in  the  parson.  "  Get  her  off  to  bed.  Never  mind, 
Dolly,  don't  you  cry  ;  "  for  Parson  Gushing  was  a 
soft-hearted  gentleman  and  couldn't  bear  the  sight 
of  Dolly's  quivering  under  lip.  So  Dolly  told  her 
little  story,  how  she  had  been  promised  a  sugar 
dog  by  Nabby  if  she'd  be  a  good  girl  and  go  to 
sleep,  and  how  she  couldn't  go  to  sleep,  and  how 
she  just  went  down  to  look  from  the  yard,  and  how 
the  music  drew  her  right  over. 

*' There,  there,"  said  Parson  Gushing,  "goto 
bed,  Dolly ;  and  if  Nabby  don't  give  you  a  sugar 
dog,  I  will.  This  Ghristmas  dressing  is  all  non- 
sense," he  added,  "  but  the  child's  not  to  blame 
— it  was  natural." 

"After  all,"  he  said  to  his  wife  the  last  thing 
after  they  were  settled  for  the  night,  "our  little 
Dolly  is  an  unusual  child.  There  were  not  many 
little  girls  that  would  have  dared  to  do  that.  I 
shall  preach  a  sermon  right  away  that  will  set  all 
this  Ghristmas  matter  straight,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"There  is  not  a  shadow  of  evidence  that  the  first 
Ghristians  kept  Ghristmas.  It  wasn't  kept  for  the 
first  three  centuries,  nor  was  Ghrist  born  anywhere 
near  the  25th  of  December." 

*  ¥:  -X-  *  -M-  •* 

The  next  morning  found  little  Dolly's  blue  eyes 
wide  open  with  all  the  wondering  eagerness  of  a 
new  idea. 

Dolly  had  her  wise  thoughts  about  Ghristmas. 
She  had  been  terribly  frightened  at  first,  when  she 
was  brought  home  from  the  church  ;  but  when  her 
papa  kissed  her  and  promised  her  a  sugar  dog  she 
was  quite  sure  that,  whatever  the  unexplained  mys- 
tery might  be,  he  did  not  think  the  lovely  scene  of 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  17^ 

the  night  before  a  wicked  one.  And  when  Mrs. 
Gushing  came  and  covered  the  Uttle  girl  up  warmly 
in  bed,  she  only  said  to  her,  "Dolly,  you  must 
never  get  out  of  bed  again  at  night  after  you  are 
put  there  ;  you  might  have  caught  a  dreadful  cold 
and  been  sick  and  died,  and  then  we  should  have 
lost  our  little  Dolly."  So  Dolly  promised  quite 
readily  to  be  good  and  lie  still  ever  after,  no  matter 
what  attractions  might  be  on  foot  in  the  com- 
munity. 

Much  was  gained,  however,  and  it  was  all  clear 
gain  ;  and  forthwith  the  little  fanciful  head  pro- 
ceeded to  make  the  most  of  it,  thinking  over 
every  feature  of  the  wonder.  The  child  had  a 
vibrating,  musical  organization,  and  the  sway  and 
rush  of  the  chanting  still  sounded  in  her  ears  and 
reminded  her  of  that  wonderful  story  in  the  "Pil- 
grim's Progress,  where  the  gate  of  the  celestial 
city  swung  open,  and  there  were  voices  that  sung, 
' '  Blessing  and  honor  and  glory  and  power  be  unto 
Him  who  sitteth  on  the  throne."  And  then  that 
wonderful  star,  that  shone  just  as  if  it  were  a  real 
star — how  could  it  be  !  For  Miss  Ida  Lewis,  being 
a  3'oung  lady  of  native  artistic  genius,  had  cut  a 
little  hole  in  the  centre  of  her  gilt  paper  star,  be- 
hind which  was  placed  a  candle,  so  that  it  gave 
real  light,  m  a  way  most  astonishing  to  untaught 
eyes.  In  Dolly's  simple  view  it  \erged  on  the 
supernatural — perhaps  it  was  the  very  real  star 
read  about  in  the  Gospel  story.  WTiy  not?  Dolly 
was  at  the  happy  age  when  anything  bright  and 
heavenly  seemed  credible,  and  had  the  child-faith 
to  which  all  things  were  possible. 

"I  wish,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gushing,  after 
they  were  retired  to  their  room  for  the  night, 
"that  to-morrow  morning  you  would  read  the 
account  of  the  birth  of  Christ  in  St.  Matthew,  and 
give  the  children  some  advice  upon  the  proper  way 
of  keeping  Ghristmas." 


180  Christmas  Tales. 

•'Well,  but  you  know  we  don't  keep  Christmas  ; 
nobody  knows  anything  about  Christmas,"  said 
the  Doctor, 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  my  dear,"  replied  his 
wife.  "You  know  that  my  mother  and  her 
family  do  keep  Christmas,  I  always  heard  of  it 
when  I  was  a  child  ;  and  even  now,  though  I  have 
been  out  of  the  way  of  it  so  long,  I  cannot  help  a 
sort  of  kindly  feeling  toward  these  ways.  I  am 
not  surprised  at  all  that  the  children  got  drawu 
over  last  night  to  the  service,  I  think  it's  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  I  know  by 
experience  just  how  attractive  such  things  are.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  this  other  church  should  draw 
very  seriously  on  your  congregation  ;  but  I  don't 
want  it  to  begin  by  taking  away  our  own  children. 
Dolly  is  an  inquisitive  child  ;  a  child  that  thinks  a 
good  deal,  and  she'll  be  asking  all  sorts  of  ques- 
tions about  the  why  and  wherefore  of  what  she 
saw  last  night," 

•'Oh,  yes,  Dolly  is  a  bright  one.  Dolly's  an 
uncommon  child,"  said  the  Doctor,  who  had  a 
pardonable  pride  in  his  children — they  being,  in 
fact,  the  only  worldly  treasure  that  he  was  at  all 
rich  in. 

He  rose  up  early  on  the  following  Sabbath  and 
proceeded  to  buy  a  sugar  dog  at  the  store  of  Lucius 
Jenks,  and  when  Dolly  came  down  to  breakfast  he 
called  her  to  him  and  presented  it,  saying  as  he 
kissed  her  : 

"  Papa  gives  you  this,  not  because  it  is  Christ- 
mas, but  because  he  loves  his  little  Dolly." 

"But  isn'l  it  Christmas?"  asked  Dolly  with  a 
puzzled  air, 

"No,  child;  nobody  knows  when  Christ  was 
born,  and  there  is  nothing  in  the  Bible  to  tell  us 
when  to  keep  Christmas." 

And  then  in  family  worship  the  Doctor  read  the 
account  of  the  birth  of  Christ  and  of  the  shepherds 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  181 

abiding  in  the  fields  who  came  at  the  call  of  the 
angels,  and  they  sung  the  old  hymn  : 

"While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night." 

"Now,  children,"  he  said  when  all  was  over, 
*'  you  must  be  good  children  and  go  to  school.  If 
we  are  going  to  keep  any  day  on  account  of  the 
birth  of  Christ,  the  best  way  to  keep  it  is  by  doing 
all  our  duties  on  that  day  better  than  any  other. 
Your  duty  is  to  be  good  children,  go  to  school  and 
mind  your  lessons." 

Tom  and  Bill  were  quite  ready  to  fall  in  with 
their  father's  view  of  the  matter.  As  for  Dolly, 
she  put  her  little  tongue  advisedly  to  the  back  of 
her  sugar  dog  and  found  that  he  was  very  sweet 
indeed — a  most  tempting  little  animal.  She  even 
went  so  far  as  to  nibble  off  a  bit  of  the  green 
ground  he  stood  on — yet  resolved  heroically  not  to 
eat  him  at  once,  but  to  make  him  last  as  long  as 
possible.  She  wrapped  him  tenderly  in  cotton 
and  took  him  to  the  school  with  her,  and  when  her 
confidential  friend,  Bessie  Lewis,  displayed  her 
Christmas  gifts,  Dolly  had  something  on  her  side 
to  show,  though  she  shook  her  curly  head  and  in- 
formed Bessie  in  strict  confidence  that  there  wasn't 
any  such  thing  as  Christmas,  her  papa  had  told 
her  so — a  heresy  which  Bessie  forthwith  reported 
when  she  went  home  at  noon. 

"  Poor  little  child — and  did  she  say  so  ?  "  asked 
gentle  old  Grandmamma  Lewis.  "  Well,  dear,  you 
mustn't  blame  her — she  don't  know  any  better. 
You  bring  the  little  one  in  here  to-night  and  I'll 
give  her  a  Christmas  cooky.  I'm  sorry  for  such 
children." 

And  so,  after  school,  Dolly  went  in  to  see  dear 
old  Madam  Lewis,  who  sat  in  her  rocking-chair  in 
the  front  parlor,  where  the  fire  was  snapping  be- 
hind great  tall  brass  andirons  and  all  the  pic- 
tures were   overshadowed  with  boughs  of  sprxice 


182  Christmas  Tales. 

and  pine.  Dolly  gazed  about  her  with  awe  and  won- 
der. Over  one  of  the  pictures  was  suspended  a 
cross  of  green  with  flowers  of  white  everlasting. 

"  What  is  thai  for?  "  asked  Dolly,  pointing  sol- 
emnly with  her  little  forefinger,  and  speaking  un- 
der her  breath. 

**  Dear  child,  that  is  the  picture  of  my  poor  boy 
who  died — ever  so  many  years  ago.  That  is  my 
cross — we  have  all  one — to  carry." 

Dolly  did  not  half  understand  these  words,  but 
she  saw  tears  in  the  gentle  old  lady's  eyes  and  was 
afraid  to  ask  more. 

She  accepted  thankfully  and  with  her  nicest 
and  best  executed  courtesy  a  Christmas  cooky  rep- 
resenting a  good-sized  fish,  with  fins  all  spread  and 
pink  sugar-plums  for  eyes,  and  went  home  marvel- 
ing yet  more  about  this  m^^stery  of  Christmas. 

As  she  was  crossing  the  green  to  go  home  the 
Poganuc  stage  drove  in,  with  Hiel  seated  on  high, 
whipping  up  his  horses  to  make  them  execute  that 
grand  entrke  which  was  the  glory  of  his  daily  exist- 
ence. 

Now  that  the  stage  was  on  runners,  and  slipped 
noiselessly  over  the  smooth  frozen  plain,  Hiel 
cracked  his  whip  more  energetically  and  shouted 
louder,  first  to  one  horse  then  to  another,  to  make 
up  for  the  loss  of  the  rattling  wheels ;  and  he  gen- 
erally had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  all  the  women 
rushing  distractedly  to  doors  and  windows,  and 
imagined  them  saying,  "There's  Hiel;  the  stage 
is  in  !" 

"  Hulloa,  Dolly  !  "  he  called  out,  drawing  up  with 
a  suddenness  which  threw  the  fore-horses  back  upon 
their  haunches.  '*  I've  got  a  bundle  for  your  folks. 
Want  to  ride?  You  may  jest  jump  up  here  by 
me  and  I'll  take  you  'round  to  your  father's  door ;  " 
and  so  Dolly  reached  up  her  little  red-mittened 
hand,  and  Hiel  drew  her  up  beside  him. 

"'Xpect  ye  want  a  bit  of  a  ride,  and  I've  got  a 


Christmas  in  Foganuc.  185 

bundle  for  Widder  Badger,  down  on  South  Street, 
so  I  guess  I'll  go  'round  that  way  to  make  it  longer. 
I  'xpect  this  'ere  bundle  is  from  some  of  your  ma's 
folks  in  Boston — 'Piscopals  they  be  and  keeps 
Christmas.  Good-sized  bundle  'tis;  reckon  it'll 
come  handy  in  a  good  many  ways." 

So,  after  finishing  his  detour,  Hiel  landed  his 
little  charge  at  the  parsonage  door. 

"Reckon  I'll  be  over  when  I've  put  up  my 
bosses,"  he  said  to  Nabby  when  he  handed  down 
the  bundle  to  her.  "  I  hain't  been  to  see  you  much 
lately,  Nabby,  and  I  know  you've  been  a-pinin' 
after  me,  but  fact  is — " 

"Well,  now,  Hiel  Jones,  you  jest  shet  up  with 
your  imperence,"  said  Nabby,  with  flashing  eyes  ; 
"you  jest  look  out  or  you'll  get  suthin." 

"  I  'xpect  to  get  a  kiss  when  I  come  'round  to- 
night," said  Hiel,  composedly.  "Take  care  o'  that 
air  bundle,  now  ;  mebbe  there's  glass  or  crockery 
in't."_ 

*'  Hiel  Jones, "  said  Nabby,  ''don't  give  me  none 
o'  your  saace,  for  I  won't  take  it.  Jim  Sawin  said 
last  night  you  was  the  brassiest  man  he  ever  see. 
He  said  there  was  brass  enough  in  your  face  to 
make  a  kettle  of" 

"  You  tell  him  there's  sap  enough  in  his  head  to 
fill  it,  anyway,"  said  Hiel.  "Goodbye,  Nabby, 
I'll  come  'round  this  evenin',"  and  he  drove  away 
at  a  rattling  pace,  while  Nabby,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  snapping  eyes,  soliloquized  : 

"Well,  I  hope  he  will  come!  I'd  jest  like  a 
chance  to  show  him  how  little  I  care  for  him." 

Meanwhile  the  bundle  was  soon  opened,  and 
contained  a  store  of  treasures  :  a  smart  little  red 
dress  and  a  pair  of  red  shoes  for  Dolly,  a  half 
dozen  pocket-handkerchiefs  for  Dr.  Gushing,  and 
"Robinson  Crusoe"  and  "Sanford  and  Mer- 
ton,"  handsomely  bound,  for  the  boys,  and  a 
bonnet  trimming  for  Mrs.  Cushing.     These  were 


184  Christmas  Tales. 

accompanied  by  a  characteristic  letter  from  Aunt 
Debby  Kittery,  opening  as  follows  : 

••  Dear  Sister  : 

"  Mother  worries  because  she  thinks  you  won't 
get  atjy  Christmas  presents.  However,  this  conies 
to  give  every  one  of  you  some  of  the  crumbs  which 
fall  from  the  church's  table,  and  Mother  says  she 
wishes  you  all  a  pious  Christmas,  which  she  thinks 
is  better  than  a  merry  one.  If  I  didn't  lay  violent 
hands  on  her  she  would  use  all  our  substance  in 
riotous  giving  of  Christmas  presents  to  all  the 
beggars  and  chimney  sweeps  in  Boston.  She  is  in 
good  health  and  talks  daily  of  wanting  to  see  you 
and  the  children  ;  and  I  hope  before  long  you  will 
bring  some  of  them,  and  come  and  make  us  a 
visit. 

"Your  affectionate  sister, 

"Debby  Kittery." 

There  was  a  scene  of  exultation  and  clamor  in 
the  parsonage  as  these  presents  were  pulled  out 
and  discussed  ;  and  when  all  possible  joy  was  pro- 
cured from  them  in  the  sitting-room,  the  children 
rushed  in  a  body  into  the  kitchen  and  showed  them 
to  Nabby,  calling  on  her  to  join  their  acclama- 
tions. 

On  the  whole,  when  Dolly  had  said  her  prayers 
that  night  and  thought  the  matter  over,  she  con- 
cluded that  her  Christmas  Day  had  been  quite  a 
success. 


The  Second  Christmas. 

Once  more  had  Christmas  come  round  in  Poga- 
nuc  ;  once  more  the  Episcopal  church  was  being 
dressed  with  ground-pine  and  spruce  ;  but  this  year 
economy  had  begun  to  make  its  claims  felt.  An 
illumination  might  do  very  well  to  open  a  church, 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  185 

but  there  were  many  who  said  "to  what  purpose 
is  this  waste?  "  when  the  proposition  was  made  to 
renew  it  yearly.  Consequently  it  was  resolved  to 
hold  the  Christmas  Eve  service  with  only  that 
necessary  amount  of  light  which  would  enable  the 
worshipers  to  read  the  prayers. 

On  this  Christmas  Eve  Dolly  went  to  bed  at  her 
usual  hour  with  a  resigned  and  quiet  spirit.  She 
felt  herself  a  year  older,  and  more  than  a  year 
wiser,  than  when  Christmas  had  first  dawned  upon 
her  consciousness. 

Mis'  Persis  appeared  on  the  ground  by  day-dawn. 
A  great  kettle  was  slung  over  the  kitchen  fire,  in 
which  cakes  of  tallow  were  speedily  liquefying  ;  a 
frame  was  placed  quite  across  the  kitchen  to  sus- 
tain candle-rods,  with  a  train  of  boards  underneath 
to  catch  the  drippings,  and  Mis'  Persis,  with  a  brow 
like  one  of  the  Fates,  announced  :  "Now  we  can't 
hev  any  young  'uns  in  this  kitchen  to-day  ;  "  and 
Dolly  saw  that  there  was  no  getting  any  attention 
in  that  quarter. 

Mis'  Persis,  in  a  gracious  Saturday  afternoon 
mood,  sitting  in  her  own  tent-door  dispensing  hos- 
pitalities and  cookies,  was  one  thing ;  but  Mis' 
Persis  in  her  armor,  with  her  loins  girded  and  a 
hard  day's  work  to  be  conquered,  was  quite 
another :  she  was  terrible  as  Minerva  with  her 
helmet  on. 

Dinner-baskets  for  all  the  children  were  hastily 
packed,  and  they  were  sent  off  to  school  with  the 
injunction  on  no  account  to  show  their  faces  about 
the  premises  till  night.  The  Doctor,  warned  of 
what  was  going  on,  retreated  to  his  study  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  where,  serenely  above  the  lower 
cares  of  earth,  he  sailed  off  into  President  Ed- 
wards' treatise  on  the  nature  of  true  virtue,  con- 
cerning which  he  was  preparing  a  paper  to  read 
at  the  next  association  meeting. 

That  candles  were  a  necessity  of  life  he  was  well 


186  Christmas  Tales. 

convinced,  and  by  faith  he  dimly  accepted  the 
fact  that  one  day  in  the  year  the  whole  house  was 
to  be  devoted  and  given  up  to  this  manufacture ; 
and  his  part  of  the  business,  as  he  understood  it, 
was,  clearly,  to  keep  himself  out  of  the  way  till  it 
was  over. 

"There  won't  be  much  of  a  dinner  at  home, 
anyway,"  said  Nabby  to  Dolly,  as  she  packed  her 
basket  with  an  extra  doughnut  or  two.  "I've  got 
to  go  to  church  to-day,  'cause  I'm  one  of  the 
singers,  and  your  ma'll  be  busy  waitin'  on  ker;  so 
we  shall  just  have  a  pick-up  dinner,  and  you  be 
sure  not  to  come  home  till  night ;  by  that  time  it'll 
be  all  over." 

Dolly  trotted  off  to  school  well  content  with  the 
prospect  before  her  :  a  nooning,  with  leave  to  play 
with  the  girls  at  school,  was  not  an  unpleasant 
idea. 

But  the  first  thing  that  saluted  her  on  her 
arrival  was  that  Bessie  Lewis — her  own  dear,  par- 
ticular Bessie — was  going  to  have  a  Christmas 
party  at  her  house  that  afternoon,  and  was  around 
distributing  invitations  right  and  left  among  the 
scholars  with  a  generous  freedom. 

"We  are  going  to  have  nuts,  and  raisins,  and 
cakes,  and  mottoes,"  said  Bessie,  with  artless 
triumph.  The  news  of  this  bill  of  fare  spread  like 
wildfire  through  the  school. 

Never  had  a  party  been  heard  of  which  contem- 
plated such  a  liberal  entertainment,  for  the  rising 
generation  of  Poganuc  were  by  no  means  wearied 
with  indulgence,  and  raisins  and  almonds  stood  for 
grandeur  with  them.  But  these  moUoes,  which 
consisted  of  bits  of  confectionery  wrapped  up  in 
printed  couplets  of  sentimental  poetry,  were  an 
unheard-of  refinement.  Bessie  assured  them  that 
her  papa  had  sent  clear  to  Boston  for  them,  and 
whoever  got  one  would  have  his  or  her  fortune  told 
bv  it. 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  187 

The  school  was  a  small,  select  one,  comprising 
the  children  of  all  ages  from  the  best  families  of 
Poganuc.  Both  boys  and  girls,  and  all  with  great 
impartiality,  had  been  invited.  Miss  Titcome,  the 
teacher,  quite  readily  promised  to  dismiss  at  three 
o'clock  that  afternoon  any  scholar  who  should 
bring  a  permission  from  parents,  and  the  children 
nothing  doubted  that  such  a  permission  was  obtain- 
able. 

Dolly  alone  saw  a  cloud  in  the  horizon.  She 
had  been  sent  away  with  strict  injunctions  not  to 
return  till  evening,  and  children  in  those  days 
never  presumed  to  make  any  exceptions  in  obey- 
ing an  absolute  command  of  their  parents. 

"But,  of  course,  you  will  go  home  at  noon  and 
ask  your  mother,  and  of  course  she'll  let  you  ; 
won't  she,  girls?"  said  lassie. 

"  Oh,  certainly ;  of  course  she  will,"  said  all  the 
older  girls,  "because  you  know  a  party  is  a  thing 
that  don't  happen  every  day,  and  your  mother 
would  think  it  strange  if  you  dtdn'^  come  and  ask 
her."  So,  too,  thought  Miss  Titcome,  a  most 
exemplary,  precise  and  proper  young  lady,  who 
always  moved  and  spoke  and  thought  as  became 
a  schoolmistress,  so  that,  although  she  was  in 
reality  only  twenty  years  old,  Dolly  considered 
her  as  a  \erj  advanced  and  ancient  person — if 
anything,  a  little  older  than  her  father  and 
mother. 

Even  she  was  of  opinion  that  Dolly  might 
properlv  go  home  to  lay  a  case  of  such  importance 
before  her  mother ;  and  so  Dolly  rushed  home 
after  the  morning  school  was  over,  running  with 
all  her  might,  and  increasing  in  mental  excite- 
ment as  she  ran.  Her  bonnet  blew  off  upon  her 
shoulders,  her  curls  flew  behind  her  in  the  wind, 
and  she  most  inconsiderately  used  up  the  little 
stock  of  breath  that  she  would  want  to  set  her 
cause  in  order  before  her  mother. 


188  Christmas  Tales. 

Just  here  we  must  beg  any  mother  and  house- 
keeper to  imagine  herself  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
most  delicate,  perplexing  and  laborious  of  house- 
hold tasks,  when  interruption  is  most  irksome  and 
perilous,  suddenly  called  to  discuss  with  a  child 
some  new  and  startling  proposition  to  which  at  the 
moment  she  cannot  even  give  a  thought. 

Mrs.  Gushing  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen  with 
Mis'  Persis,  by  the  side  of  a  caldron  of  melted 
tallow,  kept  in  a  fluid  state  by  the  heat  of  a  port- 
able furnace  on  which  it  stood.  A  long  train  of 
half-dipped  candles  hung  like  so  many  stalactites 
from  the  frames  on  which  the  rods  rested,  and  the 
two  were  patiently  dipping  set  after  set  and  replac- 
ing them  again  on  the  frame. 

"As  sure  as  I'm  alive  !  if  there  isn't  Dolly  Gush- 
ing comin'  back — runnin'  and  tearin'  like  a  wild 
cretur',"  said  Mis'  Persis.  "  She'll  be  in  here  in  a 
minute  and  knock  everything  down  !  " 

Mrs.  Gushing  looked,  and  with  a  quick  move- 
ment stepped  to  the  door. 

"Dolly!  what  are  you  here  for?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  not  to  come  home  this  noon  ?" 

*'Oh,  mamma,  there's  going  to  be  a  party  at 
General  Lewis' — Bessie's  party — and  the  girls  are 
all  going  ;  mayn't  I  go  ?  " 

"No,  you  can't;  it's  impossible,"  said  her 
mother.  "Your  best  dress  isn't  ready  to  wear,  and 
there's  nobody  can  spend  time  to  get  you  ready. 
Go  right  back  to  school." 

"But,  mamma — " 

"Go!"  said  her  mother,  in  the  decisive  tone 
that  mothers  used  in  the  old  days,  when  arguing 
with  children  was  not  a  possibility. 

"What's  all  this  about?"  asked  the  Doctor, 
looking  out  of  the  door. 

"Why,"  said  Mrs.  Gushing,  "there's  going  to 
be  a  party  at  General  Lewis',  and  Dolly  is  wild  to  go. 
It's  just  impossible  for  me  to  attend  to  her  now." 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  189 

*'01i,  I  don't  want  her  intimate  at  Lewis's," 
said  the  Doctor,  and  immediately  he  came  out  be- 
hind his  wife. 

"There;  runaway  to  school,  Dolly,"  he  said. 
"Don't  trouble  your  mother;  you  don't  want  to 
go  to  parties  ;  why,  it's  foolish  to  think  of  it.  Run 
away  now,  and  don't  think  any  more  about  it — 
there's  a  good  girl !  " 

Dolly  turned  and  went  back  to  school,  the 
tears  freezing  on  her  cheek  as  she  went.  As  for  not 
thinking  any  more  about  it — that  was  impossible. 

When  three  o'clock  came,  scholar  after  scholar 
rose  and  departed,  until  at  last  Dolly  was  the  only 
one  remaining  m  the  school-room. 

When  Dolly  came  home  that  night  the  coast  was 
clear,  and  the  candles  were  finished  and  put  away 
to  harden  in  a  freezing  cold  room  ;  the  kitchen 
was  once  more  restored,  and  Nabby  bustled  about 
getting  supper  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"  I  really  feel  sorry  about  poor  little  Dolly,"  said 
Mrs.  Gushing  to  her  husband. 

"Do  you  think  she  cared  much?"  asked  the 
Doctor,  looking  as  if  a  new  possibility  had  struck 
his  mind. 

"Yes,  indeed,  poor  child,  she  went  awa}'  crying  ; 
but  what  could  I  do  about  it  ?  I  couldn't  stop  to 
dress  her." 

"  Wife,  we  must  take  her  somewhere  to  make  up 
for  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Just  then  the  stage  stopped  at  the  door  and  a 
bundle  from  Boston  was  handed  in.  Dolly's  tears 
were  soon  wiped  and  dried,  and  her  mourning  was 
turned  into  joy  when  a  large  jointed  London  doll 
emerged  from  the  bundle,  the  Christmas  gift  of  her 
grandmother  in  Boston. 

Dolly's  former  darling  was  old  and  shabby,  but 
this  was  of  twice  the  size,  and  with  cheeks  exhib- 
iting a  state  of  the  most  flond  health. 

Besides  this  there  was,  as  usual  in  grand- 
mamma's Christmas  bundle,  something  for  every 


190  Christmas  Tales. 

member  of  the  family  ;  and  so  the  evening  went  on 
festive  wings. 

Poor  little  Dolly!  only  that  afternoon  she  had 
watered  with  her  tears,  at  school,  the  dismal  long 
straight  seam,  which  stretched  on  before  her  as  life 
sometimes  does  to  us,  bare,  disagreeable  and  cheer- 
less. She  had  come  home  crying,  little  dreaming 
of  the  joy  just  approaching ;  but  before  bedtime 
no  cricket  in  the  hearth  was  cheerier  or  more 
noisy.  She  took  the  new  dolly  to  bed  with  her, 
and  could  hardly  sleep,  for  the  excitement  of  her 
company. 

Meanwhile,  Hiel  had  brought  the  Doctor  a  mes- 
sage to  the  following  effect : 

"I  w^as  drivin'  by  Tim  Hawkins',  and  Mis* 
Hawkins  she  comes  out  and  says  they're  goiu'  to 
hev  an  apple-cuttin'  there  to-morrow  night,  and  she 
would  like  to  hev  you  and  Mis'  Cushin'  and  all 
your  folks  come — Nabby  and  all." 

The  Doctor  and  his  lady  of  course  assented. 

"  Wal,  then.  Doctor — ef  it's  all  one  to  you,"  con- 
tinued Hiel,  "  I'd  like  to  take  ye  over  in  my  new 
double  sleigh.  I've  jest  got  two  new  strings  o' 
bells  up  from  Boston,  and  I  think  we'll  3ort  o* 
make  the  snow  fly.  S'pose  there'd  be  no  objec- 
tions to  takin'  my  mother  'long  with  ye  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Hiel,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  go  in  com- 
pany with  your  mother,  and  we're  ever  so  much 
obliged  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gushing. 

"  Wal,  I'll   be  round  by  six  o'clock,"  said   Hiel. 

"Then,  wife,"  said  the  Doctor,  "we'll  take 
Dolly,  and  make  up  for  the  loss  of  her  party." 

Punctually  at  six,  Kiel's  two  horses,  with  all  their 
bells  jingling,  stood  at  the  door  of  the  parsonage, 
whence  Tom  and  Bill,  who  had  been  waiting  with 
caps  and  mittens  on  for  the  last  half  hour,  burst 
forth  with  irrepressible  shouts  of  welcome. 

"Take  care  now,  boys  ;  don't  haul  them  buffalo 
skins  out  on  t'  the  snow,"  said  Hiel.  "  Don't  get 
things  in  a  muss  gen'ally  ;  wait  for  your  ma  and  the 


Christmas  in  Poganuc.  191 

Doctor.  Got  to  stow  the  grown  folks  in  fust ;  boys 
kin  hang  on  anywhere." 

And  so  first  came  Mrs.  Gushing  and  the  Doctor, 
and  were  installed  on  the  back  seat,  with  Dolly  in 
between.  Then  hot  bricks  were  handed  in  to  keep 
feet  warm,  and  the  buffalo  robe  was  tucked  down 
securely.  Then  Nabby  took  her  seat  by  Hiel  in 
front,  and  the  sleigh  drove  round  for  old  Mrs. 
Jones.  The  Doctor  insisted  on  giving  up  his  place 
to  her  and  tucking  her  warmly  under  the  buffalo 
robe,  while  he  took  the  middle  seat  and  acted  as 
moderator  between  the  boys,  who  were  in  a  wild 
state  of  hilarity.  Spring,  \N'itli  explosive  barks, 
raced  first  on  this  and  then  on  that  side  of  the 
sleigh  as  it  flew  swiftly  over  the  smooth  frozen 
road. 

The  stars  blinked  white  and  clear  out  of  a  deep 
blue  sky,  and  the  path  wound  up-hill  among  cedars 
and  junipers  and  chimps  of  mountain  laurel,  on 
whose  broad  green  leaves  the  tufts  of  snow  lay  like 
clusters  of  white  roses.  The  keen  clear  air  was 
full  of  stimulus  and  vigor;  and  so  Hiel's  proposi- 
tion to  take  the  longest  way  met  with  enthusiastic 
welcome  from  all  the  party.  Next  to  being  a  bird, 
and  having  wings,  is  the  sensation  of  being  borne 
over  the  snow  by  a  pair  of  spirited  horses  who  en- 
joy the  race,  apparently,  as  much  as  those  they 
draw.  Though  Hiel  contrived  to  make  the  ride 
about  eight  miles,  it  yet  seemed  but  a  short  time 
before  the  party  drove  up  to  the  great  red  farm- 
house, whose  lighted  windows  sent  streams  of  ra- 
diant welcome  far  out  into  the  night. 

Our  little  Dolly  had  had  an  evening  of  unmixed 
bliss.  Ever}-body  had  petted  her,  and  talked  to 
her,  and  been  delighted  with  her  sayings  and 
doings,  and  she  was  carrying  home  a  paper  parcel 
of  sweet  things  which  good  Mrs.  Hawkins  had 
forced  into  her  hand  at  parting.  She  had  spent  a 
really  happy  Christmas  ! 


192  Christmas  Tales. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRINCESS. 

BY  MRS.    MOLKSWORTH. 

In  the  olden  times  there  lived  a  king  who  was 
worthy  of  the  name.  He  loved  his  people,  and 
his  people  loved  him  in  return.  His  kingdom  must 
have  been  large  ;  at  least  it  appears  to  be  beyond 
doubt  that  it  extended  a  good  way  in  different 
directions,  for  it  was  called  the  Kingdom  of  the 
Four  Orts,  which,  of  course,  as  everybody  knows, 
means  that  he  had  possessions  north,  south,  east, 
and  west. 

It  was  not  so  large,  however,  but  that  he  was 
able  to  manage  it  well  for  himself— that  is  to  say, 
with  certain  help  which  I  will  tell  you  of.  A  year 
never  passed  without  his  visiting  every  part  of  his 
dominions  and  inquiring  for  himself  into  the  affairs 
of  his  subjects.  Perhaps — who  can  say  ? — the  world 
was  not  so  big  in  those  days  ;  doubtless,  however 
that  may  have  been,  there  were  not  so  many  folk 
living  on  it. 

Many  things  were  different  in  those  times  :  many 
things  existed  which  nowadays  would  be  thought 
strange  and  incredible.  Human  beings  knew 
much  more  than  they  do  now  about  the  other 
dwellers  on  the  earth.  For  instance,  it  was  no 
uncommon  case  to  find  learned  men  who  were  able 
to  converse  with  animals  quite  as  well  as  with 
each  other.  Fairies,  of  course,  were  often  visible 
to  mortal  eyes,  and  it  was  considered  quite  natural 
that  they  should  interfere  for  good — sometimes, 
perhaps,  for  evil;  as  to  that  I  cannot  say— in 
human  affairs.  And  good  King  Brave-Heart  was 
especiallj'  favored  in  this  way.  For  the  help  which, 
as  I  said,  was  his  in  governing  his  people  was  that 


The  Christmas  Princess.  193 

of  four  very  wise  counselors  indeed— the  four 
fairies  of  the  North  and  the  South,  the  East  and 
the  West. 

These  sisters  were  very  beautiful  as  well  as  very 
wise.  Though  older  than  the  world  itself,  they 
always  looked  young.  They  were  very  much  at- 
tached to  each  other,  though  they  seldom  met,  and 
it  must  be  confessed  that  sometimes  on  such  occa- 
sions there  were  stormy  scenes,  though  they  made 
it  up  afterward.  And  the  advice  they  gave  was 
always  to  be  relied  upon. 

Now,  King  Brave-Heart  was  married.  His  wife 
was  young  and  charming,  and  devotedly  fond  of 
him.  But  she  was  of  a  rather  jealous  and  exacting 
disposition,  and  she  had  been  much  spoilt  in  her 
youth  at  her  own  home.  She  was  sweet  and  loving, 
however,  which  makes  up  for  a  good  deal,  and 
always  ready  to  take  part  in  any  scheme  for  the 
good  of  their  people,  provided  it  did  not  separate 
her  from  her  husband. 

They  had  no  children,  though  they  had  been 
married  for  some  years  ;  but  at  last  there  came  the 
hope  of  an  heir,  and  the  Queen's  delight  was  un- 
bounded— nor  was  the  King's  joy  less  than  hers. 

It  was  late  autumn,  or  almost  winter,  when  a 
great  trouble  befell  the  pretty  Queen.  The  weather 
had  grown  suddenly  cold,  and  a  few  snowflakes 
even  had  fallen  before  their  time.  But  Queen 
Claribel  only  clapped  her  hands  at  the  sight,  for 
with  the  winter  she  hoped  the  baby  would  come, 
and  she  welcomed  the  signs  of  its  approach  on  this 
account.  The  King,  however,  looked  grave,  and 
when  the  next  morning  the  ground  was  all  white, 
the  trees  and  the  bushes  covered  with  silvery  foli- 
age, he  looked  graver  still. 

"  Something  is  amiss,"  he  said.  "The  Fairy  of 
the  North  must  be  on  her  way,  and  it  is  not  ye^ 
time  for  her  visit." 

And  that  very  afternoon  the  snow  fell   again, 


194  Christmas  Tales. 

more  heavily  than  before,  and  the  frost-wind 
whistled  down  the  chimneys  and  burst  open  the 
doors  and  windows,  and  all  the  palace  servants 
went  hurrying  and  scurrying  about  to  make  great 
fires  and  hang  up  thick  curtains  and  get  everything 
in  order  for  the  cold  season,  which  they  had  not 
expected  so  soon. 

' '  It  will  not  last,"  said  the  King,  quietly.  "  In  a 
few  days  there  will  be  milder  weather  again." 
But,  nevertheless,  he  still  looked  grave. 

And  early  the  next  morning,  as  he  was  sitting 
with  the  Queen,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little 
frightened  at  the  continuance  of  the  storm,  the 
double  doors  of  her  boudoir  suddenly  flew  open, 
an  icy  blast  filled  the  room,  and  a  tall,  white- 
shrouded  figure  stood  before  them. 

"I  have  come  to  fetch  you,  Brave-Heart,"  she 
said  abruptly.  "You  are  wanted,  sorely  wanted, 
in  my  part  of  the  world.  The  people  are  starving  : 
the  season  has  been  a  poor  one,  and  there  has  been 
bad  faith.  Some  few  powerful  men  have  bought 
up  the  grain,  which  was  already  scarce,  and  refuse 
to  let  the  poor  folk  have  it.  Nothing  will  save 
their  lives  or  prevent  sad  suffering  but  your  own 
immediate  presence.  Are  you  ready  ?  You  must 
have  seen  I  was  coming." 

She  threw  off  her  mantle  as  she  spoke  and  sank 
on  to  a  couch.  Strong  as  she  was,  she  seemed  tired 
with  the  rate  at  which  she  had  traveled,  and  the 
warm  air  of  the  room  was  oppressive  to  her.  Her 
clear,  beautiful  features  looked  harassed  ;  her  gray 
eyes  full  of  anxiety.  For  the  moment  she  took  no 
notice  of  the  Queen. 

"Are  you  ready?  "  she  repeated. 

"Yes,  I  am  ready!"  said  Brave-Heart,  as  he 
rose  to  his  feet. 

But  the  Queen  threw  herself  upon  him,  with 
bitter  cr3nng  and  reproaches.  Would  he  leave  her^ 
and  at  such  a  time,  a  prey  to  all  kinds  of  terrible 


Tht  Christmas  Princess.  195 

anxiety?  Then  she  turned  to  the  fairy  and  up- 
braided her  in  unmeasured  language.  But  the 
spirit  of  the  North  glanced  at  her  with  calm  pity. 

"Poor  child!"  she  said,  "I  had  almost  for- 
gotten you.  The  sights  I  have  seen  of  late  have 
been  so  terrible  that  they  absorb  me.  Take  cour- 
age, Claribel !  Show  yourself  a  queen.  Think  of 
the  suffering  mothers  and  their  little  ones  whom 
your  husband  hastens  to  aid.  All  will  be  well  with 
you,  believe  me.  But  you,  too,  must  be  brave  and 
unselfish." 

It  was  no  use.  All  she  said  but  made  the  Queen 
more  indignant.  She  would  scarcely  bid  her  hus- 
band farewell :  she  turned  her  back  to  the  fairy 
with  undignified  petulance. 

"  Foolish  child,"  said  the  Northern  spirit.  "  She 
will  learn  better  some  day." 

Then  she  gave  all  her  attention  to  the  matter  she 
had  come  about,  explaining  to  the  King  as  they 
journeyed  exactly  the  measures  he  must  take  and  j 
the  difficulties  to  be  overcome.  But  though  the 
King  had  the  greatest  faith  in  her  advice,  and 
never  doubted  that  it  was  his  duty  to  obey,  his 
heart  was  sore,  as  you  can  understand. 

Things  turned  out  as  he  had  said.  The  severe 
weather  disappeared  again  as  if  by  magic,  and 
some  weeks  of  unusually  mild  da3-s  followed.  And 
when  the  winter  did  set  in  for  good  at  last,  it  was 
with  no  great  rigor.  From  time  to  time  news 
reached  the  palace  of  the  King's  welfare.  The 
tidings  were  cheering.  His  presence  was  effecting 
all  that  the  fairy  had  hoped. 

So  Queen  Claribel  ought  to  have  been  happy.  But 
she  was  determined  not  to  be.  She  did  nothing 
but  cry  and  abuse  the  fairy,  declaring  that  she 
would  never  see  her  dear  Brave-Heart  again,  and 
that  if  ever  her  baby  came  she  was  sure  it  would 
not  live,  or  that  there  would  be  something  dreadful 
the  matter  with  it. 


196  Christmas  Tales. 

**  It  is  not  fair,"  she  kept  saying,  **  it  is  a  shame 
that  I  should  suffer  so. " 

And  even  when  on  Christmas  Eve  a  beautiful 
little  girl  was  born,  as  pretty  and  lively  and  healthy 
as  could  be  wished,  and  even  though  the  next  day 
brought  the  announcement  of  the  King's  imme- 
diate return,  Claribel  still  nursed  her  resentment, 
though  in  the  end  it  came  to  be  directed  entirely 
against  the  fairy.  For  when  she  saw  Brave-Heart 
again,  his  tender  affection  and  his  delight  in  his 
little  daughter  made  it  impossible  for  her  not  to 
"forgive  him,"  as  she  expressed  it,  though  she 
could  not  take  any  interest  in  his  accounts  of  his 
visit  to  the  north  and  all  he  had  been  able  to  do 
there. 

A  great  feast  was  arranged  in  honor  of  the 
christening  of  the  little  Princess.  All  the  grand 
people  of  the  neighborhood  were  bidden  to  it,  nor, 
you  may  be  sure,  did  the  good  King  forget  the 
poorer  folk.  The  four  fairies  were  invited,  for  it 
was  a  matter  of  course  that  they  should  be  the 
baby's  godmothers.  And  though  the  Queen  would 
gladly  have  excluded  the  Northern  fairy,  she  dared 
not  even  hint  at  such  a  thing. 

But  she  resolved  in  her  own  mind  to  do  all  in 
her  power  to  show  that  she  was  not  the  welcome 
fairy. 

On  such  occasions,  when  human  beings  were 
honored  by  the  presence  of  fairy  visitors,  these 
distinguished  guests  were  naturally  given  prece- 
dence of  all  others,  otherwise  very  certainly  they 
would  never  have  come  again.  Even  among  fairies 
themselves  there  are  ranks  and  formalities,  and  the 
Queen  well  knew  that  the  first  place  was  due  to 
the  Northern  spirit.  But  she  gave  instructions  that 
this  rule  should  be  departed  from,  and  the  Snow 
fairy,  as  she  was  sometimes  called,  found  herself 
placed  at  the  King's  left  hand,  separated  from  him 
by  her  sister  of  the  West,  instead  of  next  to  him  on 


The  Christmas  Pinncess.  197 

the  right,  which  seat,  on  the  contrary,  was  occu- 
pied by  the  fairy  of  the  South.  She  glanced  round 
her  calmly,  but  took  no  notice  ;  and  the  King,  im- 
agining that  by  her  own  choice  perhaps,  she  had 
chosen  the  unusual  position,  made  no  remark. 
And  the  feast  progressed  with  the  accustomed 
splendor  and  rejoicing. 

But  at  the  end,  when  the  moment  arrived  at 
which  the  four  godmothers  were  expected  to  state 
their  gifts  to  the  baby,  the  Queen's  spite  could  be 
no  longer  concealed. 

"I  request,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  for  reasons 
well  known  to  herself,  to  the  King,  and  to  myself, 
the  Northern  fairy's  gift  may  be  the  last  in  order 
instead  of  the  first." 

The  King  started  and  grew  pale.  The  beautiful, 
soft-voiced  fairy  of  the  South,  in  her  glowing 
golden  draperies,  would  fain  have  held  back,  for 
her  affection  for  her  sterner  sister  was  largely 
mingled  with  awe.  But  the  Snow  fairy  signed  to 
her  imperiously  to  speak. 

"  I  bestow  upon  the  Princess  Sweet-Heart,"  she 
said,  half  tremblingly,  "the  gift  of  great  beauty." 

'*  And  I,"  said  the  spirit  of  the  East,  who  came 
next,  her  red  robes  falling  majestically  around  her, 
her  dark  hair  lying  smoothly  in  its  thick  masses  on 
her  broad,  low  forehead,  "I  give  her  great  powers 
of  intellect  and  intelligence," 

"And  I,"  said  the  Western  fairy,  with  a  bright, 
breezy  flutter  of  hersea-green  garments,  ' '  health — 
perfect  health  and  strength  of  body,  as  my  gift  to 
the  pretty  child." 

"  And  you,"  said  the  Queen  bitterly,  "  you,  cold- 
hearted  fairy,  who  have  done  your  best  to  kill  me 
with  misery,  who  came  between  my  husband  and 
me,  making  him  neglect  me  as  he  never  would 
have  done  but  for  your  influence — what  will  you 
give  my  child  ?  Will  you  do  something  to  make 
amends  for  the  suffering  you  caused  ?     I   would 


198  Christmas  Tales, 

rather  my  pretty  baby  were  dead  than  that  she 
lived  to  endure  what  I  have  of  late  endured." 

"Life  and  death  are  not  mine  to  bestow  or  to 
withhold,"  said  the  Northern  spirit  calmly,  as  she 
drew  her  white  garments  more  closely  round  her 
with  a  majestic  air.  "  So  your  rash  words,  foolish 
woman,  fortunately  for  you  all,  cannot  touch  the 
child.  But  something — much — I  can  do,  and  I 
will.  She  shall  not  know  the  suffering  you  dread 
for  her  with  so  cowardly  a  fear.  She  shall  be  what 
you  choose  to  fancy  /  am.  And  instead  of  the 
name  you  have  given  her,  she  shall  be  known  for 
what  she  is— Princess  Ice-Heart." 

She  turned  to  go,  but  the  King  on  one  hand,  her 
three  sisters  on  the  other,  started  forward  to  detain 
her. 

"Have  pity  !  "  exclaimed  the  former. 

"  Sister,  bethink  you,"  said  the  latter  ;  the  West- 
ern fairy  adding  beseechingly,  the  tears  springing 
in  her  blue  ej^es,  which  so  quickly  changed  from 
bright  to  sad,  "  Say  something  to  soften  this  hard 
fate.  Undo  it  you  cannot,  I  know.  Or,  at  least, 
allow  me  to  mitigate  it  if  I  can." 

The  Snow  fairy  stopped ;  in  truth,  she  was  far 
1  from  hard-hearted  or  remorseless,  and  already  she 
was  beginning  to  feel  half  sorry  for  what  she  had 
done. 

"  What  would  you  propose  ?  "  she  said  coldly. 

The  fairy  of  the  West  threw  back  her  auburn 
hair  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"I  would  1  knew!"  she  said.  " 'Tis  a  hard 
knot  you  have  tied,  my  sister.  For  that  which 
would  mend  the  evil  wrought  seems  to  me  impossi- 
ble while  the  evil  exists— the  cure  and  the  cessation 
of  the  disease  are  one.  How  could  the  heart  of  ice 
be  melted  till  tender  feelings  warm  it,  and  how  can 
tender  feelings  find  entrance  into  a  feelingless 
heart  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  I  can  but  predict  what  sounds 
like  a  mockery   of  your  trouble,"  she  went  on, 


The  Christinas  Princess.  199 

turning  to  the  King,  though  indeed  by  this  time 
she  might  have  included  the  Queen  in  her  sympa- 
thy, for  Claribel  stood,  horrified  at  the  result  of  her 
mad  resentment,  as  pale  as  Brave-Heart  himself. 
"  Hearken  !  "  and  her  expressive  face,  over  which 
sunshine  and  showers  were  wont  to  chase  each 
other  as  on  an  April  day — for  such,  as  all  know,  is 
the  nature  of  the  changeful,  lovable  spirit  of  the 
West  — for  once  grew  still  andstaiue-like,  while  her 
blue  eyes  pierced  far  into  the  distance.  "  The  day 
on  which  the  Princess  of  the  Icy  Heart  shall  shed  a 
tear,  that  heart  shall  melt — but  then  onh"." 

The  Northern  fairy  murmured  something  under 
her  breath,  but  what  the  words  were  no  one  heard, 
for  it  was  not  many  that  dared  stand  near  to  her, 
so  terribly  cold  was  her  presence.  The  graceful 
spirit  of  the  South  fluttered  her  golden  locks,  and 
with  a  little  sigh  drew  her  radiant  mantle  round 
her,  and  kissed  her  hand  in  farewell,  while  the 
thoughtful-eyed,  mysterious  Eastern  fairy  linked 
her  arm  in  that  of  her  Western  sister,  and  whis- 
pered that  the  solution  of  the  problem  should  have 
her  most  earnest  study.  And  the  gretn-robed 
spirit  tried  to  smile  through  her  tears  in  farewell  as 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away. 

So  the  four  strange  guests  departed ;  but  their 
absence  was  not  followed  by  the  usual  outburst  of 
unconstrained  festivity.  On  the  contrary,  a  sense  of 
sorrow  and  dread  hung  over  all  who  remained,  and 
before  long  everyone  not  immediately  connected 
with  the  palace  respectfully  but  silently  withdrew, 
leaving  the  King  and  Queen  to  their  mysterious 
sorrow. 

Claribel  flew  to  the  baby's  cradle.  The  little 
Princess  was  sleeping  soundly  ;  she  looked  rosy 
and  content — a  picture  of  health.  Her  mother 
called  eagerly  to  the  King. 

"She  seems  j  ust  as  usual , "  she  exclaimed.  "Per- 
haps— oh  !  perhaps  after  all  I  have  done  no  harm." 


200  Christmas  Tales. 

For,  strange  to  say,  her  resentment  against  the 
Northern  fairy  had  died  away.  She  now  felt 
nothing  but  shame  and  regret  for  her  own  wild 
temper.  *'  Perhaps,"  she  went  on,  "it  was  but  to 
try  me,  to  teach  me  a  lesson,  that  the  Snow  fairy 
uttered  those  terrible  words." 

Brave-Heart  pitied  his  wife  deeply,  but  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  I  dare  not  comfort  you  with  any  such  hopes," 
he  said,  "  my  poor  Claribel.  The  fairy  is  true — 
true  as  steel — if  you  could  but  have  trusted  her ! 
Had  you  seen  her,  as  I  have  done — full  of  tenderest 
pity  for  sufifering — you  could  never  have  so  maligned 
her." 

Claribel  did  not  answer,  but  her  tears  dropped 
on  the  baby's  face.  The  little  Princess  seemed 
annoyed  by  them.  She  put  up  her  tiny  hand  and, 
with  a  fretful  expression,  brushed  them  off. 

And  that  very  evening  the  certainty  came. 

The  head  nurse  sent  for  the  Queen  while  she  was 
undressing  the  child,  and  the  mother  hastened  to 
the  nursery.  The  attendants  were  standing  round 
in  the  greatest  anxiety,  for.  though  the  baby 
looked  quite  well  otherwise,  there  was  the  stran- 
gest coldness  over  her  left  side,  in  the  region  of  the 
heart.  The  skin  looked  perfectly  colorless,  and 
the  soft  cambric  and  still  softer  flannel  of  the  finest 
which  had  covered  the  spot  were  stiff,  as  if  they 
had  been  exposed  to  a  winter  night's  frost. 

"Alas!"  exclaimed  Claribel,  but  that  was  all. 
It  was  no  use  sending  for  doctors — no  use  doing 
anything.  Her  own  delicate  hand  when  she  laid 
it  on  the  baby's  heart  was,  as  it  were,  blistered 
with  cold.  The  next  morning  she  found  it  covered 
with  chilblains. 

But  the  baby  did  not  mind.  She  flourished 
amazingly,  heart  or  no  heart.  She  was  perfectly 
healthy,  ate  well,  slept  well,  and  soon  gave  signs 
of  unusual  intelligence.     She  was  seldom  put  out, 


The  Christmas  Princess.  201 

bu^  when  angry  she  expressed  her  feelings  by  loud 
roHrs  and  screams,  though  with  never  a  tear  !  At 
first  this  did  not  seem  strange,  as  no  infant  sheds 
tears  during  the  earliest  weeks  of  its  life.  But 
when  she  grew  to  six  months  old,  then  to  a  year, 
then  to  two  and  three,  and  was  near  her  fourth, 
birthday  without  ever  crying,  it  became  plain  that 
the  prediction  was  indeed  to  be  fulfilled. 

And  the  name  "  Ice-Heart  "  clung  to  her.  In 
spite  of  all  her  royal  parents'  commands  to  the 
contrary,  "  Princess  Ice-Heart  "  she  was  called  far 
and  near.  It  seemed  as  if  people  could  not  help  it. 
*' Sweet-Heart  we  cannot  name  her,  for  sweet  she 
is  not,"  was  murmured  by  all  who  came  in  contact 
with  her. 

And  it  was  true.  Sweet  she  certainly  was  not. 
She  was  beautiful  and  healthy  and  intelligent,  but 
she  had  no  feeling.  In  some  ways  she  gave  little 
trouble.  Her  temper,  though  occasionally  violent, 
was,  as  a  rule,  placid  ;  she  seemed  contented  in  al- 
most all  circumstances.  When  her  good  old  nurse 
died,  she  remarked  coolly  that  she  hoped  her  new 
attendant  would  dress  her  hair  more  becomingly  ; 
when  King  Brave-Heart  started  on  some  of  his  dis- 
tant journeys  she  bade  him  good-bye  with  a  smile, 
observing  that  if  he  never  came  home  again  it 
would  be  rather  amusing,  as  she  would  then  reign 
instead  of  him,  and  when  she  saw  her  mother  break 
into  sobs  at  her  unnatural  speech  she  stared  at  her 
in  blank  astonishment. 

And  so  things  went  on  until  Ice-Heart  reached 
her  seventeenth  year.  By  this  time  she  was,  as  re- 
garded her  outward  appearance,  as  beautiful  as  the 
fondest  of  parents  could  desire  ;  she  was  also  exceed- 
ingly strong  and  healthy,  and  the  powers  of  her 
mind  were  unusual.  Her  education  had  been  care- 
fully directed,  and  she  had  learnt  with  ease  and 
interest.  She  could  speak  in  several  languages, 
her    paintings    were    worthy   of   admiration,    as 


202  ChristTnas  Tales. 

tliey  were  skillful  and  well  executed ;  she  could 
play  with  brilliancy  on  various  instruments.  She 
had  also  been  taught  to  sing,  but  her  voice  was 
metallic  and  unpleasing.  But  she  could  discuss 
scientific  and  philosophical  subjects  with  the  sages 
of  her  father's  kingdom  like  one  of  themselves. 

And  besides  all  this  care  bestowed  upon  her 
training,  no  stone  had  been  left  unturned  in  hopes 
of  awakening  in  the  unfortunate  girl  some  affec- 
tion or  emotion.  Every  day  the  most  soul-stirring 
poetry  was  read  aloud  to  her  by  the  greatest  elocu- 
tionists, the  most  exciting  and  moving  dramas 
were  enacted  before  her  ;  she  was  taken  to  visit  the 
poor  of  the  c^ty  in  their  pitiable  homes;  she  was 
encouraged  to  see  sad  sights  from  which  most  soft- 
hearted maidens  would  instinctively  flee.  But  all 
was  in  vain.  She  would  express  interest  and  ask 
intelligent  questions  with  calm,  unmoved  features 
and  dry  eyes.  Even  music,  from  which  much  hiid 
been  hoped,  was  powerless  to  move  her  to  aught 
but  admiration  of  the  performers'  skill  or  curiosity 
:as  to  the  construction  of  their  instruments.  There 
"was  but  one  peculiarity  about  her,  which  some- 
fcimes,  though  they  could  not  have  explained  why, 
seemed  to  Ice-HearL's  unhappy  parents  to  hint  at 
some  shadowy  hope.  The  sight  of  tears  was  evi- 
dently disagreeable  to  her.  More  certainly  than 
anything  else  did  the  signs  of  weeping  arouse  03ie 
of  her  rare  fits  of  anger — so  much  so  that  now  and 
then,  for  days  together,  the  poor  Queen  dared  not 
come  near  her  child,  and  tears  were  to  her  a  fre- 
quent relief  from  her  lifelong  regrets. 

So  beautiful  and  wealthy  and  accomplished  a 
maiden  was  naturally  not  without  suitors;  and 
from  this  direction,  too,  at  first,  Queen  Claribel 
trusted  fondly  that  cure  might  come. 

"If  she  could  but  fall  in  love,"  she  said,  the 
first  time  the  idea  struck  her. 

"My  poor  dear!  "    replied  the  King,   **to  see, 


The  Chrutnuis  Princess.  203 

yoQ  must  have  eyes  ;  to  love,  you  must  have  a 
heart." 

"But  a  heart  she  has,"  persisted  the  moi-hfr- 
"  It  is  only,  as  it  were,  asleep— frozen,  like  the 
wvinter  stream  which  bursts  forth  again  into  ever 
fresh  life  and  movement  with  the  awaking  spring." 

So  lovers  were  iuvited,  and  lovers  came  and  were 
made  welcome  by  the  dozen.  Lovers  of  every 
description — rich  and  poor,  old  and  young,  haTid- 
some  and  ugly — so  long  as  they  were  of  passable 
birth  and  fair  character.  King  Brave-Heart  was  not 
too  particular — in  the  forlorn  hope  that  among 
them  one  fortunate  wight  mighi:  rouse  some  senti- 
ment in  the  lovely  statue  he  desired  to  v.in.  E-at 
all  in  vain.  Each  prince,  or  duke,  or  simple 
knight,  duly  instructed  in  the  sad  case,  did  his 
best:  one  would  try  poetr}%  another  his  lute,  a 
third  sighs  and  appeals,  a  fourth,  imagining  he  had 
made  some  way,  would  attempt  the  bold  stroke  of 
telling  Ice-Heart  that  unless  she  could  responil  lo 
his  adoration  he  would  drown  himself.  She  only 
smiled,  and  begged  him  to  allow  her  to  witness  the 
performance — she  had  never  seen  anyone  drown. 
So,  one  by  one,  the  troupe  of  aspirants — some  in 
disgust,  some  in  strange  fear,  some  in  annoyance — 
took  their  departure,  preferring  a  more  ordinary 
spouse  than  the  bewitched  though  beautiful  Prin- 
cess. 

And  she  saw  them  go  with  calmness,  though,  iii 
one  or  two  cases  she  had  replied  to  her  parents 
that  she  had  no  objection  to  marry  Prince  So-and- 
so,  or  Count  Such-another,  if  they  desired  it — it 
would  be  rather  agreeable  to  have  a  husband  if  he 
gave  her  plenty  of  presents  and  did  all  she  asked. 
"Though  a  sighing  and  moaning  lover,  or  a  man 
who  is  always  twiddling  a  fiddle  or  making  verses 
I  could  not  stand,"  she  would  add  contemptu- 
ously. 

So  King  Brave-Heart  thought  it  best  to  try  no 


204  Christmas  Tales. 

such  experiment.  And  in  future  no  gentleman 
•was  allowed  to  present  himself  except  with  the 
understanding  that  he  alone  who  should  succeed 
in  making  Princess  Ice-Heart  shed  a  tear  would  be 
accepted  as  her  betrothed. 

This  proclamation  diminished  at  once  the  num- 
ber of  suitors.  Indeed,  after  one  or  two  candidates 
liad  failed,  no  more  appeared — so  well  did  it  come 
to  be  known  that  the  attempt  was  hopeless. 

And  for  more  than  a  year  Princess  Ice-Heart  was 
left  to  herself — very  much,  apparently,  to  her  sat- 
isfaction. 

But  all  this  time  the  mystic  sisters  were  not  idle 
or  forgetful.  Several  of  the  aspirants  to  Ice- 
Heart's  hand  had  been  chosen  b}-  them  and  con- 
"veyed  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  palace  b}^  their 
intermediacy  from  remote  lands.  And  among 
these,  one  of  the  few  who  had  found  some  slight 
favor  in  the  maiden's  eyes  was  a  special  protege  of 
the  Western  fairy — the  young  and  spirited  Prince 
Francolin. 

He  was  not  one  of  the  sighing  or  sentimental 
order  of  swains  ;  he  was  full  of  life  and  adventure 
and  brightness,  and  his  heart  was  warm  and  gen- 
erous. He  admired  the  beautiful  girl,  but  he 
pitied  her  still  more,  and  this  pity  was  the  real 
motive  which  made  him  yield  to  the  fairy's  pro- 
posal that  he  should  try  again. 

"You  pleased  the  poor  child,"  she  said,  when 
she  arrived  one  day  at  the  Prince's  home  to  talk  over 
her  new  idea.  "You  made  her  smile  by  your  live- 
liness and  fun.  For  I  was  there  when  you  little 
knew  it.  The  girl  has  been  overdosed  with  senti- 
mentality and  doleful  strains.  I  believe  we  have 
been  on  a  wrong  track  all  this  time." 

"What  do  you  propose?"  said  Francolin, 
gravely,  for  he  could  be  serious  enough  when  se- 
riousness was  called  for.  "She  did  not  actually 
dislike  me,  but  that  is  the  most  that  can   be  said  ; 


Tkt  Chri4mas  Princess.  205 

and  ho'-vever  I  may  feel  for  her,  however  I  may 
admire  her  beauty  and  intelligence,  nothing  would 
induce  me  to  wed  a  bride  who  couid  not  return  my 
affection.  Indeed,  I  could  scarcel}^  feel  any  for 
such  a  one  " 

"Ah  no  !  I  agree  with  you  entirely,"  said  the 
fairy.  "But  listen — my  power  is  great  in  some 
ways.  1  am  well  versed  in  ordinary  enchantment, 
and  am  most  willing  to  employ  my  utmost  skill 
for  my  unfortunate  god-daughter." 

She  then  unfolded  to  him  her  scheme,  and  ob- 
tained his  consent  to  it. 

' '  Now  is  your  time, ' '  she  said,  in  conclusion.  "  I 
hear  on  the  best  authority  that  Ice-Heart  is  feelings 
rather  dull  and  bored  at  present.  It  is  some  time 
since  she  has  had  the  variety  of  a  new  suitor,  and 
she  will  welcome  any  distraction." 

And  she  proceeded  to  arrange  all  the  details  of 
her  plan. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  very  shortly  after  the 
conversation  I  have  related  there  was  great  excite- 
ment in  the  capital  city  of  the  Kingdom  of  the  Four 
Orts.  Aftei  an  interval  of  more  than  a  year  a  new 
suitor  had  at  length  presented  himself  for  the  hand 
of  the  Princess  Ice-Heart.  Only  the  King  and 
Queen  received  the  news  with  melancholy  iudiflfer- 
euce. 

"He  may  try  as  the  others  have  done,"  said 
Brave- Heart  to  the  messenger  announcing  the 
arrival  of  the  stranger  at  the  gates,  accompanied 
b}-  a  magnificent  retinue;  "but  it  is  useless." 
For  the  poor  King  was  fast  losing  all  hope  of  his 
daughter's  case  ;  he  was  growing  aged  and  care- 
worn before  his  time. 

•'  Does  he  know  the  terms  attached  to  his  ac- 
ceptance ?  "  inquired  the  Queen. 

Yes,  the  messenger  from  the  unknown  candidate 
for  the  hand  of  the  beautiful  Ice-Heart  had  been 
expressly  charged  to  say  that  the  Prince  Jocko — 


206  Christmas  Tales. 

such  was  the  new-comer's  name — was  fully  ia- 
formed  as  to  all  particulars,  and  prepared  to  com- 
ply with  the  conditions. 

The  Princess'  parents  smiled  somewhat  bitterly. 
They  had  no  hope,  but  still  they  could  not  forbid 
the  attempt, 

"Prince  Jocko?"  said  the  King,  "not  a  very 
prince-like  name.     However,  it  matters  little." 

A  few  hours  later  the  royal  pair  and  their 
daughter,  with  all  their  attendants,  in  great  state 
and  ceremony,  were  awaiting  their  guest.  And 
soon  a  blast  of  trumpets  announced  his  approach. 
His  retinue  was  indeed  magnificent ;  horsemen  in 
splendid  uniforms,  followed  by  a  troop  of  white 
iimles  with  negro  riders  in  gorgeous  attire,  then 
musicians,  succeeded  by  the  Prince's  immediate 
attendants,  defiled  before  the  great  marble  steps  in 
front  of  the  palace,  at  the  summit  of  which  the 
King,  wnth  the  Queen  and  Piincess,  was  seated  in 
state. 

Ice-Heart  clapped  her  hands. 

"  'Tis  as  good  as  a  show,"  she  said,  "  but  where 
is  the  Prince  ?  " 

As  she  said  the  word  the  cortege  halted.  A 
litter,  with  closely  drawn  curtains,  drew  up  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps. 

"Gracious  !  "  e.^claimed  the  Princess,  "  I  hope 
he  is  not  a  molly-coddle  ;  "  but  before  there  was 
time  to  say  more  the  curtains  of  the  litter  were 
drawn  aside,  and  in  another  moment  an  attendant 
had  lifted  out  its  occupant,  who  forthwith  pro- 
ceeded to  ascend  the  steps. 

The  parents  and  their  daughter  stared  at  each 
other  and  gasped. 

Prince  Jocko  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
monkey  ! 

But  such  a  monkey  as  never  before  had  been 
seen.  He  was  more  comical  than  words  can  ex- 
press, and  when  at  last  he  stood  before  them,  and 


The  Christinas  Princess.  207 

bowed  to  the  ground,  a  three-cornered  hat  in  his 
hand,  his  sword  sticking  straight  out  behind,  his 
tail  sweeping  the  ground,  the  effect  was  irresistible. 
King  Brave-Heart  turned  his  head  aside,  Queen 
Claribel  smothered  her  face  in  her  handkerchief. 
Princess  Ice-Heart  opened  her  pretty  mouth  wide 
and  forgot  to  close  it  again,  while  a  curious  ex- 
pression stole  into  her  beautiful  eyes. 

Was  it  a  trick? 

No  ;  Prince  Jocko  proceeded  to  speak. 

He  laid  his  little  brown  paw  on  his  heart,  bowed 
again,  coughed,  sneezed,  and  finally  began  an  ora- 
tion. If  his  appearance  was  too  funny,  his  words 
and  gestures  were  a  hundred  times  more  so.  He 
rolled  his  eyes,  he  declaimed,  he  posed  and  pirou- 
etted like  a  miniature  dancing-master,  and  his 
little  cracked  voice  rose  higher  and  higher  as  his 
own  fine  words  and  expressions  increased  in  elo- 
quence. 

And  at  last  a  sound — which  never  before  had 
been  heard,  save  faintly — made  everyone  start. 
The  Princess  was  laughing  as  if  she  could  no  long- 
er contain  herself.  Clear,  ringing,  merry  laugh- 
ter, which  it  did  one's  heart  good  to  hear.  And 
on  she  went,  laughing  ever,  till — she  flung  herself 
at  her  mother's  feet,  the  tears  rolling  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Oh,  mamma!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  never — " 
and  then  she  went  off  again. 

But  Prince  Jocko  suddenly  grew  silent.  He 
stepped  up  to  Ice-Heart  and,  respectfully  raising 
her  hand  to  his  lips,  gazed  earnestly,  beseechingly 
into  her  face,  his  own  keen  sharp  eyes  gradually 
growing  larger  and  deeper  in  expression,  till  they 
assumed  the  pathetic,  wistful  look  of  appeal  one 
often  sees  in  those  of  a  noble  dog. 

"Ah,  Princess  !  "  he  murmured. 

And  Ice-Heart  stopped  laughing.  She  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  side. 


•208  Cluidnia^  Tuies,. 

"Father!  mother!  "  she  cried,  "help  me!  help 
me !  Am  I  dying?  What  has  happened  to  me?  " 
And,  with  a  strange,  long  drawn  sigh  she  sank 
fainting  to  the  ground. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  the  palace,  hurry- 
ing to  and  fro,  fetching  of  doctors,  and  tnuch 
alarm.  But  when  the  Princess  had  been  carried 
indoors  and  laid  on  a  couch,  she  soon  revived. 
And  who  can  describe  the  feelings  of  the  King  and 
Queen  when  she  turned  to  ihem  with  a  smile  such 
as  they  had  never  seen  on  her  face  before. 

* '  Dearest  father,  dearest  mother, "  she  said,  "how 
I  love  you!  Those  strange  warm  drops  that  filled 
my  eyes  seem  to  have  brought  new  life  to  me," 
and  as  the  Queen  passed  her  arm  round  the  maiden 
she  felt  no  chill  of  cold  such  as  used  to  thrill  her 
^•ith  misery  every  time  she  embraced  her  child. 

"Sweet-Heart!  my  own  Sweet-Heart!"  she 
■whispered. 

And  the  Princess  whispered  back,  "Yes,  call 
me  by  that  name  always." 

All  was  rejoicing  when  the  wonderful  news  of 
the  miraculous  cure  spread  through  the  palace  and 
the  city.  But  still  the  parents'  hearts  were  sore, 
for  was  not  the  King's  word  pledged  that  his 
daughter  should  marry  him  who  had  effected  this 
happy  change  ?  And  this  was  no  other  than  Jocko, 
the  monkey  ! 

The  Prince  had  disappeared  at  the  moment  that 
Ice-Heart  fainted,  and  now  with  his  retinue  he 
was  encamped  outside  the  walls.  All  sorts  of  ideas 
occurred  to  the  King. 

"I  cannot  break  my  word,"  he  said,  "but  we 
might  try  to  persuade  the  little  monster  to  release 
me  from  it." 

But  the  Princess  would  not  hear  of  this. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  owe  him  too  deep  a  debt 
of  gratitude  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  And  in  his 
eyes  I  read  more  than  I  can  put  in  words.     No, 


The  C%-Utmns  Princess.  209 

dear  father  !  you  must  summon  him  at  once  to  be 
presented  to  our  people  as  my  affianced  husband." 

So  again  the  cortege  of  Prince  Jocko  made  its 
way  to  the  palace,  and  again  the  litter,  with  its 
closely  drawn  curtains,  drew  up  at  the  marble 
steps.  And  Sweet  Heart  stood,  pale,  but  calm  and 
smiling,  to  welcome  her  ridiculous  betrothed. 

But  who  is  this  that  quickly  mounts  the  stairs 
with  firm  and  manly  tread?  Sweet-Heart  nearly 
swooned  again. 

"Jocko?"  she  murmured.  "Where  is  Jocko? 
Why.  this  is  Prince  Francolin  !  " 

"Yes,  dear  child,"  said  a  bright  voice  beside 
her;  and,  turning  round,  Sweet-Heart  beheld  the 
Western  fairy,  who,  with  her  sisters,  had  suddenly 
arrived,    "  Yes,  indeed  !    Francolin,  and  no  other !  " 

The  universal  joy  may  be  imagined.  Even  the 
grave  fairy  of  the  North  smiled  with  pleasure  and 
delight,  and,  as  she  kis.sed  her  pretty  god-daughter, 
she  took  the  girl's  hand  and  pressed  it  against  her 
own  heart. 

"Never  misjudge  me,  Sweet-Heart,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Cold  as  I  seem  to  those  who  have  not 
courage  to  approach  me  closely,  my  heart,  under 
my  icy  mantle,  is  as  warm  as  is  now  3'our  own." 

And  so  it  was. 

Where  can  we  get  a  better  ending  than  the  time- 
honored  one?  Francolin  and  Sweet-Heart  were 
married,  and  lived  happy  ever  after,  and  who 
knows  but  what,  in  the  Kingdom  of  the  Four  Orts, 
they  are  livinsj  happily  still  ? 

If  only  we  knew  tlie  way  thither,  we  might  see 
for  ourselves  if  it  is  so. 


210  Chndmas  Tales. 


WIDOW  TOWNSEND'S   VISITOR. 


The  fire  crackled  cheerfully  on  the  broad  hearth 
of  an  old-fashioned  fireplace  iu  an  old-fashioned 
jiublic  house  in  an  old  fashioned  village,  down  iu 
that  part  of  the  Old  Dominion  called  the  "Eastern 
Shore."  A  cat  and  three  kittens  basked  in  the 
warmth,  and  a  decrepit  yellow  dog,  U'ing  full  iu  the 
reflection  of  the  blaze,  wrinkled  his  black  nose 
approvingly,  as  he  turned  his  hind  feet  where  his 
fore  feet  had  been.  Over  the  chimney  hung  sev- 
eral fine  hams  and  pieces  of  dried  beef.  Apples 
were  festooned  along  the  ceiling,  and  other  signs 
of  plenty  and  good  cheer  were  scattered  profusely 
about.  There  were  plants,  too,  on  the  window 
ledges,  horse-shoe  geraniums,  and  dew-plants,  and 
a  monthly  rose,  just  budding,  to  say  nothing  of 
pots  of  violets  that  perfumed  the  whole  place 
whenever  they  took  it  into  their  purple  heads  to 
bloom.  The  floor  was  carefully  swept,  the  chairs 
had  not  a  speck  of  dust  upon  leg  or  round,  the 
long  settle  near  the  fireplace  shone  as  if  it  had 
been  ju>t  varnished,  and  the  eight-day  clock  in  the 
corner  had  had  its  white  face  newly  washed, 
and  seemed  determined  to  tick  the  louder  for  it. 

Two  arm-chairs  were  drawn  up  at  cozy  distance 
from  the  hearth  and  each  other  ;  a  candle,  a  news- 
paper, a  pair  of  spectacles,  a  dish  of  red  cheeked 
apples,  and  a  pitcher  of  cider,  filled  a  little  table 
between  them.  In  one  of  these  chairs  sat  a  com- 
fortable-looking woman  about  forty-five,  with 
cheeks  as  red  as  the  apples,  and  e3-es  as  dark  and 
bright  as  they  had  ever  been,  resting  her  elbow  on 
the  table  and  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  look- 
ing thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 


Widow  Townsend's  Visitor.  211 

This  was  Widow  Townsend,  "relict"  of  Mr. 
Levi  Townsend.  who  had  been  mouldering  into 
dust  in  the  neighboring  churchyard  for  seven 
years  and  more.  She  was  thinking  of  her  dead  hus- 
band, possibly  because  all  her  work  being  done, 
and  the  servant  gone  to  bed,  the  sight  of  his  empty 
chair  at  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and  the  silence 
of  the  room,  made  her  a  little  lonely. 

"Seven  years,"  so  the  widow's  reverie  ran  ;  "it 
seems  as  if  it  were  more  than  fifty,  and  Christmas 
nigh  here  again,  and  yet  I  don't  look  so  very  old 
neither.  Perhaps  it's  not  having  any  children  to 
bother  my  life  out,  as  other  people  have.  They 
may  say  what  they  like— children  are  more  plague 
than  profit,  that's  my  opinion.  Look  at  my  sister 
Jerusha,  with  her  six  boys.  She's  worn  to  a 
shadow,  and  I  am  sure  they  have  done  it,  though 
she  never  will  own  it." 

The  widow  took  an  apple  from  the  dish  and  be- 
gan to  peel  it. 

"How  fond  Mr.  Townsend  used  to  be  of  these 
apples!  He'll  never  eat  any  more  of  them,  poor 
fellow,  for  I  don't  suppose  they  have  apples  where 
he  has  gone  to.  Heigho  !  I  remember  very  well 
how  I  used  to  throw  apple-peel  over  my  head  when 
I  was  a  girl  to  see  who  I  was  going  to  marry." 

Mrs.  Townsend  stopped  short  and  blushed,  for 
in  thos<»  days  she  did  not  know  Mr.  T.,  and  was 
always  looking  eagerly  to  see  if  the  peel  had 
formed  a  capital  S.  Her  meditations  took  a  new- 
turn. 

"How  handsome  Sam  Payson  was,  and  how 
much  I  use  to  care  about  him  !  I  wonder  what 
has  become  of  him  !  Jerusha  says  he  went  awaj 
from  our  village  just  after  I  did,  and  no  one  has 
ever  heard  of  him  since.  What  a  silly  thing  that 
quarrel  was  !     If  it  had  not  been  for  that — " 

Here  came  a  long  pause,  during  which  the 
widow  looked  very  steadfastly  at  the  empty  arm- 


212  Gh-istmas  Tales. 

chair  of  Levi  Townsend,  deceased.  Her  fingers 
p]a3'ed  carelessly  with  the  apple- peel  :  she  drew 
it  safely  towards  her,  and  looked  around  the 
room. 

"  Upon  my  word,  it  is  very  ridiculous,  and  I 
don't  know  what  the  neighbors  would  say  if  they 
saw  me." 

Still  the  plump  fingers  drew  the  red  peel  nearer. 

"But  then  they  can't  see  me,  that's  a  comfort  ; 
and  the  cat  and  old  Bose  never  will  know  what 
it  means.  Of  course  I  don't  believe  anything 
about  it. ' ' 

The  peel  hung  gracefully  from  her  hand. 

"  But  still,  I  should  like  to  try  ;  it  would  seem 
like  old  times,  and — " 

Over  her  head  it  went,  and  curled  up  quietly  on 
the  floor  at  a  little  distance.  Old  Bose,  who  always 
slept  with  one  eye  open,  saw  it  fall,  and  marched 
deliberately  up  to  smell  it. 

"  Bose— Bose — don't  touch  !  "  cried  his  mistress, 
and  bending  over  it  with  beating  heart,  she  turned 
as  red  as  fire.  There  was  as  handsome  a  capital  S 
as  any  one  could  wish  to  see. 

A  great  knock  came  suddenly  at  the  door. 
Bose  growled,  and  the  widow  screamed  and 
snatched  up  the  apple-peel. 

"  It's  Mr.  T. — it'shis  spirit  come  back  again,  be- 
cause I  tried  that  silly  trick,"  she  thought  fearfully 
to  herself 

Another  knock — louder  than  the  first,  and  a 
man's  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  Hello — the  house  !  " 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  the  widow,  somewhat  re- 
lieved to  find  that  the  departed  Levi  was  still  safe 
in  his  grave  on  the  hillside. 

"  A  stranger,"  said  the  voice. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

*'  To  get  a  lodging  here  for  the  night." 

The  widow  deliberated. 


Widow  Townsend's  Visitor.  213 

"  Cau't  you  go  on  ?  There's  a  house  half  a  mile 
farther,  if  you  keep  to  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  road,  and  turn  to  the  left  after  you  get  by — " 

*'  It's  raining  cats  and  dogs,  and  I'm  very  deli- 
cate," said  the  stranger,  coughing.  "  I'm  wet  to 
the  skin  :  don't  you  think  you  can  accommodate 
me? — I  don't  mind  sleeping  on  the  floor." 

"Raining,  is  it?  I  didn't  know  that,''  and  the 
kind-hearted  little  woman  unbarred  the  door  very 
quickly.  "  Come  in,  whoever  you  may  be  ;  I  only 
asked  you  to  go  on  because  I  am  a  lone  woman, 
with  only  one  servant  in  the  house." 

The  stranger  entered,  shaking  himself  like  a 
Newfoundland  dog  upon  the  step,  and  scattering  a 
little  shower  of  drops  over  his  hostess  and  her 
nicely  swept  floor. 

"Ah,  that  looks  comfoitable  after  a  man  has 
been  out  for  hours  in  a  storm,"  he  said,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  fire  ;  and  striding  along  toward 
the  nearth,  followed  by  Bose,  who  sniffed  suspi- 
ciously at  his  heels,  he  stationed  himself  in  the 
arm-chair — Mr.  Townsend's  ay-m-chair !  which 
had  been  kept  "sacred  to  his  memory  "  for  seven 
years.  The  widow  was  horrified,  but  her  guest 
looked  so  weary  and  worn-out  that  she  could  not 
ask  him  to  move,  but  busied  herself  in  stirring 
up  the  blaze  that  he  might  the  sooner  dry  his  drip- 
ping clothes. 

A  new  thought  struck  her :  Mr.  T.  had  worn  a 
comfortable  dressing-gown  during  his  illness,  which 
still  hung  in  the  closet  at  her  right.  She  could 
not  let  this  poor  man  catch  his  death,  by  sitting  in 
that  wet  coat.  If  he  was  in  Mr.  Townsend's  chair, 
why  should  he  not  be  in  Mr.  Townsend's  wrapper? 
She  went  nimbly  to  the  closet,  took  it  down, 
fished  out  a  pair  of  slippers  from  a  boot- rack  be- 
low, and  brought  them  to  him. 

"I  think  you  had  better  take  off  your  coat 
and  boots — you  will  have  the  rheumatic  lever,  or 


214  Christ niaii  Tulef. 

something  like  it,  if  you  don't.  Here  are  st'TDe 
things  for  you  to  wear  while  they  are  drying.  A  rid 
you  must  be  hungry,  too  ;  I  will  go  into  the  pantry 
and  get  you  something  to  eat." 

She  bustled  away,  "on  hospitable  thoughts  in- 
tent," and  the  stranger  made  the  exchange  witl)  a 
quizzical  smile  playing  around  his  lips.  He  \\  as  a 
tall,  well-formed  man,  with  a  bold  but  handsome 
face,  sun-burned  and  heavily  bearded,  and  looking 
anything  but  "delicate,"  though  his  blue  eyes 
glanced  out  from  under  a  forehead  as  white  as 
snow.  He  looked  around  the  kitchen  with  a  mis- 
chievous air,  and  stretched  out  his  feet  decorated 
with  the  defunct  Boniface's  slippers. 

"Upon  my  word,  this  is  stepping  into  the  old 
man's  shoes  with  a  vengeance!  And  what  a 
hearty,  good-humored  looking  woman  she  is  J 
Kind  as  a  kitten,"  and  he  leaned  forward  and 
stroked  the  cat  and  her  brood,  and  then  patted  old 
Bose  upon  the  head.  The  widow,  bringing  in  sun- 
dry good  things,  looked  pleased  at  his  attention  to 
her  dumb  friends. 

"  It's  a  wonder  Bose  does  not  growl ;  he  gener- 
ally does  if  strangers  touch  him.  Dear  me,  how 
stupid !  " 

The  last  remark  was  neither  addressed  to  the 
stranger  nor  to  the  dog  but  to  herself.  She  had 
forgotten  that  the  little  stand  was  net  empty,  and 
there  was  no  room  on  it  fur  the  things  she  held. 

"Oh,  I'll  manage  it,"  said  her  guest,  gathering 
up  paper,  candle,  apples,  and  spectacles  (it  was 
not  without  a  little  pang  that  she  saw  them  in  bis 
hand,  for  they  had  been  her  husband's,  and  were 
placed  each  night,  like  the  arm-chair,  beside  her) 
and  depositing  them  on  the  settle. 

"Give  me  the  table-cloth,  ma'am,  I  can  spread 
it  as  well  as  any  woman  ;  I've  learned  that  along 
with  scores  of  other  things,  in  my  wanderings. 
Now  let  me  relieve  you  of  those  dishes  ;  they  are 


Widow  Townsend's  Visitor.  21^ 

far  too  heavy  for  those  hands" — the  widow 
blushed  ;  "  and  now  please,  sit  down  with  me,  or  I 
cannot  eat  a  morsel." 

"  I  had  supper  long  ago,  but  really  I  think  I  can 
take  something  more,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  draw- 
ing her  chair  nearer  to  the  table. 

"  Of  course  you  can,  my  dear  lady  ;  in  this  cold 
fall  weather  people  ought  to  eat  twice  as  much  as 
they  do  in  warm.  Let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  this 
ham,  your  own  curing,  I  dare  say." 

' '  Yes  :  my  poor  husband  was  ver}'  fond  of  it.  He 
used  to  say  that  no  one  understood  curing  ham  and 
drying  beef  better  than  I." 

"He  was  a  most  sensible  man,  I  am  sure.  I 
drink  your  health,  ma'am,  in  this  cider." 

He  took  a  long  draught,  and  set  down  his  glass. 

"It  is  like  nectar." 

The  widow  was  feeding  Bose  and  the  cat  (who 
thought  they  were  entitled  to  a  share  of  every 
meal  eaten  in  the  house),  and  did  not  quite  hear 
what  he  said. 

"  Fin6  dog,  ma'am,  and  a  very  pretty  cat." 

"  They  were  my  husband's  favorites,"  and  a  sigh 
followed  the  answer. 

"Ah,  your  husband  must  have  been  a  very 
happy  man." 

The  blue  eyes  looked  at  her  so  long,  that  she 
grew  flurried. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  I  can  get  for  you,  sir?" 
she  asked,  at  last. 

"Nothing,  thank  you  ;  I  have  finished." 

She  rose  to  clear  the  things  away.  He  assisted 
her,  and  somehow  their  hands  had  a  queer  knack 
of  touching  as  they  carried  the  dishes  to  the  pantry 
shelves.  Coming  back  to  the  kitchen,  she  put  the 
apples  and  cider  in  their  old  places,  and  brought 
out  a  clean  pipe  ;\nd  a  box  of  tobacco  from  an 
arched  recess  near  the  chimney. 

"  My  husband   always  said  he   could  not  sleep 


210  Chridmas  Tales. 

after  eating  supper  late  imless  be  smoked,"  she 
said.      "Perhaps  you  would  like  to  try  it." 

"  Not  if  it  is  to  drive  you  away,'  he  answered, 
for  she  had  her  candle  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  do  not  oV)ject  to  smoke  at  all."  She 
put  the  caudle  down  ;  some  faint  sujJ:gestion  about 
"propriety"  troubled  her,  hut  she  glanced  at  the 
old  clock,  and  lelt  reassured.  It  was  only  half-past 
nine. 

The  stranger  pushed  the  stand  back  after  the 
pipe  was  lit,  and  drew  her  easy-chair  a  little  nearer 
the  fire,  and  his  own. 

"Come,  sit  down,"  be  said,  pleadingly;  "it's 
not  late,  and  when  a  man  has  been  knocking  about 
in  California  and  all  sorts  of  places,  for  a  score  of 
vears,  he  is  glad  enough  to  get  into  a  berth  like 
this,  and  to  have  a  pretty  woman  to  speak  to  once 
again." 

"California!  Have  you  been  in  California?* 
she  exclaimed,  dropping  into  the  chair  at  once. 
"Unconsciously,  she  had  long  cherished  the  idea 
that  Sam  Payson,  the  lover  of  her  youth,  with 
whom  she  had  so  foolishly  quarreled,  had  pitched 
his  tent,  after  many  wanderings,  in  that  far-off 
land.  Her  heart  warmed  to  one  who,  with  some- 
thing of  Sam's  looks  and  ways  about  him.  had 
also  been  sojourning  in  that  country,  and  who  very 
possibly  had  met  him — perhaps  had  known  him 
intimately  !  At  that  thought  her  heart  beat  quick, 
and  she  looked  very  graciously  at  the  bearded 
stranger,  who,  wrapped  in  Mr.  Townsend's  dressing- 
gown,  wearing  Mr.  Townsend's  slippers,  and  sit- 
ting in  Mr.  Townsend's  chair,  beside  Mr.  Town- 
send's wife,  smoked  Mr.  Townsend's  pipe  with  such 
an  air  of  feeling  most  thoroughly  and  comfortably 
at  home  ! 

'Yes,  ma'am.  I've  been  in  California  for  the  last 
six  years.  And  before  that  I  went  quite  round  the 
world  in  a  whaling  ship  !  " 


Widow  Towiisend'ti  Visitor.  217 

•*  Good  gracious  !  " 

The  stranger  sent  a  puff  of  smoke  curling  grace- 
fully over  his  head. 

"  It's  very  strange,  my  dear  lady,  how  often  you 
see  one  thing  as  you  go  wandering  about  the  world 
after  that  fashion." 

**  And  what  is  that?" 

"Men,  without  house  or  home  above  their 
heads,  roving  here  and  there,  and  turning  up  in 
all  sorts  of  odd  places  ;  caring  very  little  for  life  as 
a  general  thing,  and  making  fortunes  just  to  fling 
them  away  again,  and  all  for  one  reason.  You 
don't  ask  me  what /^a/ is?  No  doubt  you  know 
already  very  well." 

"  I  tniuk  not,  sir." 

"  Because  a  woman  has  jilted  them  !  " 

Here  was  a  long  pause,  and  Mr.  Townsend's 
pipe  emitted  short  puffs  with  surprising  rapidity. 
A  guilty  conscience  needs  no  accuser,  and  the 
widow's  cheek  was  dyed  with  blushes  as  she 
thoughtof  the  absent  Sam. 

"I  wonder  how  women  manage  when  ^/ley  get 
served  in  the  same  way,"  said  the  stranger  mus- 
ingly; "you  never  meet  l/iem  roaming  up  and 
down  m  that  style." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  with  some  spirit, 
*'  if  a  woman  is  in  trouble  she  must  stay  at  home 
and  bear  it,  the  best  way  she  can.  And  there's 
more  women  bearing  such  things  than  we  know 
of,  I  dare  say." 

"Like  enough.  We  never  know  whose  hand 
gets  pinched  in  a  trap  unless  they  scream.  And 
women  are  too  shy  or  too  sensible — which  you 
choose — for  that." 

"Did  you  ever,  in  all  your  wanderings,  meet  any 
one  by  the  name  of  Samuel  Payson?"  asked  the 
widow,  unconcernedly. 

The  stranger  looked  toward  her  ;  she  was  rum- 
maging  the    table-drawer  for  her   knitting  work^ 


218  Christmas  Tales. 

and  did  not  notice  him.  When  it  was  found,  and 
the  needles  in  motion,  he  answered  her. 

"  Payson — Sam  Payson  ?  Why,  he  was  my  most 
intimate  friend  !     Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  A  little — that  is,  I  used  to,  when  I  was  a  girl. 
Where  did  3'ou  meet  him  ?  " 

"He  went  with  me  on  the  whaling  voyage  I  told 
you  of,  and  afterward  to  California.  We  had  a 
tent  together,  and  some  other  fellows  with  us,  and 
we  worked  the  same  claim  for  more  than  six 
months." 

"  I  suppose  he  was  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Strong  as  an  ox." 

"And— and  happy?  "  pursued  the  widow,  bend- 
ing closer  over  her  knitting. 

"Hum — the  less  said  about  that  the  better,  per- 
haps. But  he  seemed  to  enjoy  life  after  a  fashion 
of  his  own.  And  he  got  rich  out  there,  or  rather, 
I  will  say,  well  off." 

Mrs.  Townsend  did  not  pay  much  attention  to 
that  part  of  the  story.  Evidently  she  had  not  fin- 
ished asking  questions,  but  she  was  puzzled  about 
her  next  one.  At  last  she  brought  it  out  beautifully  : 

"  Was  his  wife  with  him  in  California  ?  " 

The  stranger  looked  at  her  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"  His  wife,  ma'am  !  Why,  bless  you,  he  has  not 
got  any  wife." 

"  Oh,  I  thought — I  mean  I  heard  " — here  the  lit- 
tle widow  remembered  the  fate  of  Ananias  and 
Sapphira,  and  stopped  short  before  she  told  such  a 
tremendous  fib. 

"Whatever  you  heard  of  his  marrying  was  all 
nonsense,  I  can  assure  you.  I  knew  him  well,  and 
he  had  no  thoughts  of  the  kind  about  him.  Some 
of  the  boys  used  to  tease  him  about  it,  but  he  soon 
made  them  stop." 

♦•How?" 

"He  just  told  them  frankly  that  the  only  wo- 
man he  ever  loved  had  jilted  him  years  before, 


Widow  Toumsend's  Vwitor.  219 

and  married  another  man.  After  that  no  one  ever 
mentioned  the  subject  to  him,  except  me." 

Mrs.  Townsend  laid  her  knitting  aside,  and 
looked  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 

"  He  was  another  specimen  of  the  class  of  men  I 
was  speaking  of.  I  have  seen  him  face  death  a 
score  of  times  as  quietly  as  I  face  the  fire.  '  It  mat- 
ters very  little  what  takes  me  off,'  he  used  to  say  ; 
'I've  nothing  to  live  for,  and  there's  no  one  that 
■will  shed  a  tear  for  me  when  I  am  gone.'  It's  a  sad 
thought  for  a  man  to  have,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Townsend  sighed  as  she  said  she  thought  it 
•was. 

"  But  did  he  ever  tell  you  the  name  of  the  wo- 
man who  jilted  him  ?  " 

' '  I  know  h&r  first  name. ' ' 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

*' Maria." 

The  plump  little  widow  almost  started  out  of  her 
chair,  the  name  was  spoken  so  exactly  as  Sam 
would  have  said  it. 

"Did  you  know  her,  too?"  he  asked,  looking 
keenly  at  her. 

"Yes." 

"Intimately?" 

"Yes." 

"  Where  is  she  now?  Still  happy  with  her  hus- 
band, I  suppose,  and  never  giving  a  thought  to  the 
poor  fellow  she  drove  out  into  the  world  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  shading  her  face 
with  her  hand,  and  speaking  unsteadily  ;  "no,  her 
husband  is  dead." 

"Ah  !  but  still  she  never  thinks  of  Sam." 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

"  Does  she?" 

"How can  I  tell?" 

"Are  you  still  friends  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  ought  to  know,  and  you  do.  Tell  me."" 


*22()  Christmas  Tales. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  I  should.  But  if  I 
<io,  j'ou  must  promise  me,  on  your  honor,  never  to 
tell  him,  if  you  ever  meet  him  again." 

"  Madam,  what  you  say  to  me  never  shall  be  re- 
peated to  any  mortal  man,  upon  my  honor." 

"Well,  then,  she  does  remember  him." 

"But  how?" 

"As  kindly,  I  think,  as  he  could  wish." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  for  his  sake.  You  and  I 
are  the  friends  of  both  parties  :  we  can  rejoice 
with  each  other." 

He  drew  his  chair  much  nearer  hers,  and  took 
ber  hand.  One  moment  the  widow  resisted,  but 
it  was  a  magnetic  touch,  the  rosy  palm  lay  quietly 
in  his,  and  the  dark  beard  bent  so  low  that  it 
nearly  touched  her  shoulder.  It  did  not  matter 
much.  Was  he  not  Samuel's  dear  friend?  If  he 
was  not  the  rose,  had  he  not  dwelt  very  near  it, 
for  a  long,  long  time  ? 

"  It  was  a  foolish  quarrel  that  parted  them,"  said 
the  stranger,  softly. 

' '  Did  he  tell  you  about  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  on  board  the  whaler." 

"  Did  he  blame  her  much  ?" 

"Not  so  much  as  himself.  He  said  that  his  jeal- 
ousy and  ill-temper  drove  her  to  break  ofif  the 
match  ;  but  he  thought  sometimes  if  he  had  only 
gone  back  and  spoken  kindly  to  her,  she  would  have 
married  him  after  all. " 

"I  am  sure  she  would,"  said  the  widow  pit- 
«ously.  "She  has  owned  it  to  me  more  than  a 
thousand  times. ' ' 

"She  was  not  happy,  then,  with  another." 

"Mr. — that  is  to  say,  her  husband — was  very 
good  and  kind,"  said  the  little  woman,  thinking 
of  the  lonely  grave  out  on  the  hillside  rather 
penitently,  "and  they  lived  very  pleasantly  to- 
gether. There  never  was  a  harsh  word  between 
them." 


Widow  Townsend's  Visitor.  221 

.  "Still — might  she  not  have  been  happier  with 
Sam?  Be  honest,  now,  and  say  just  what  you 
think." 

"Yes." 

"Bravo  !  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  come  at.  And 
now  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,  and  you  must 
break  it  to  her." 

Mrs.  Townsend  looked  rather  scared. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  want  you  to  go  and  see  her,  wherever  she 
may  be,  and  say  to  her,  'Maria,' — what  makes 
you  start  so  ?  " 

"Nothing;  only  you  speak  so  like  some  one  I 
used  to  know,  once  in  a  while." 

"Do  I?  Well,  take  the  rest  of  the  message. 
Tell  her  that  Sam  loved  her  through  the  whole  ; 
that,  when  he  heard  she  was  free,  he  began  tt> 
work  hard  at  making  a  fortune.  He  has  got  it; 
and  he  is  coming  to  share  it  with  her,  if  she  will 
let  him.     Will  you  tell  her  this  ?" 

The  widow  did  not  answer.  She  had  freed  her 
hand  from  his,  and  covered  her  face  with  it.  By 
and  by  she  looked  up  again — he  was  waiting 
patiently. 

"Well?" 

"I  will  tell  her." 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room.  Then  he  came  back,  and  leaning  on  the 
mantel-piece,  stroked  the  yellow  hide  of  Bose 
■with  his  slipper. 

"Make  her  quite  understand  that  he  wants  her 
for  his  wife.  She  may  live  where  she  likes  and. 
how  she  likes,  only  it  must  be  with  him." 

"T  will  tell  her." 

"Say  he  has  grown  old,  but  not  cold  ;  that  he 
loves  ner  now  perhaps  better  than  he  did  twenty 
years  ago  ;  that  he  has  been  faithful  to  her  all 
through  his  life,  and  that  he  will  be  faithful  till  he 
dies." 


222  Christmas  Tales. 

The  Californian  broke  off  suddenly.  The  widow 
answered  still,  "  I  will  tell  her." 

"And  what  do  you  think  she  will  say?  "be 
asked,  in  an  altered  tone. 

'•  What  can  she  say  but  Come  /  " 

"Hurrah!" 

The  stranger  caught  her  out  of  her  chair  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child,  and  kissed  her. 

"Don't — oh,  don't!"  she  cried  out.  "I  am 
Sam's  Maria !  " 

"  Well— I  am  Maria's  Sam  !  " 

Off  went  the  dark  wig  and  the  black  whiskers — 
there  smiled  the  dear  face  she  had  not  forgotten  f 
I  leave  you  to  imagine  the  tableau  ;  even  the  cat 
got  up  to  look,  and  Bose  sat  on  his  stump  of  a  tail, 
and  wondered  if  he  was  on  his  heels  or  his  head. 

The  widow  gave  one  little  scream,  and  then 
she — 

But,  stop  !  Quiet  people  like  you  and  me,  dear 
reader,  who  have  got  over  all  these  follies,  and  can 
do  nothing  but  turn  up  our  noses  at  them,  have  no 
business  here.  I  will  only  add  that  two  hearts 
were  very  happy,  that  Bose  concluded  after  a  while 
that  all  was  right,  and  so  lay  down  to  sleep  again^ 
and  that  one  week  afterward,  on  Christmas  Eve, 
there  was  a  wedding  at  the  house  that  made  the 
neighbors  stare.  The  widow  had  married  her  First 
Love  I 


The  Old  Man's  Chrwtmas.  22S- 


THE  OLD  MAN'S   CHRISTMAS. 

BY   ELLA    WHEELER  WILCOX, 
I. 

Though  there  was  wrong  on  both  sides,  they 
never  would  have  separated  had  it  not  been  for  the 
old  man. 

He  was  Ben's  father,  and  Ben  was  an  only  child 
— a  spoiled,  selfish,  high-tempered  lad,  who  had 
grown  up  with  the  idea  that  his  father,  Anson  Eng- 
lish, or  the  "old  man,"  as  his  dutiful  son  called 
him,  was  much  richer  than  he  really  was,  and  that 
he  had  no  need  of  any  personal  effort — any  object 
in  life,  aside  from  the  pursuit  of  pleasure. 

Ben's  mother  had  died  when  he  was  fifteen  years 
old  and  his  father  had  never  married  again.  Yet 
it  was  not  any  allegiance  to  her  memory  which  had 
kept  Anson  English  from  a  second  marriage.  He 
remembered  her,  to  be  sure,  and  scarcely  a  day 
passed  without  his  mentioning  her.  But  after  her 
death,  as  during  her  weary  life,  he  used  her  name 
as  a  synonym  for  all  that  was  undesirable.  He 
compared  everybody  to  "  'Liz'beth,  '  and  always  to- 
her  disadvantage.  He  had  a  word  of  praise  and 
encouragement  and  approval  for  every  housewife 
in  the  neighborhood  except — his  own.  Whatever 
went  wrong,  in  doors  or  out,  "  'Liz'beth"  was  the 
direct  or  indirect  cause. 

During  the  first  five  years  of  her  married  life, 
Elizabeth  made  strenuous  exertions  to  please  her 
husband.  She  wept  her  sweet  eyes  dim  over  her 
repeated  failures.  Then  she  found  that  she  had 
been  attempting  an  impossible  labor,  and  grew  pas- 
sively indifferent— an  indifference  which  lasted 
tmtil  death  kindly  released  her. 


224  Christmas  Tales. 

Elizabeth  had  been  a  tidy  housekeeper  during 
these  first  years. 

"  You'd  scrub  and  scour  a  man  out  'er  house  an' 
home  !  "  was  all  the  praise  her  husband  gave  her 
for  her  order  and  cleanHness  ;  and  to  his  neighbors, 
to  whom  he  was  fond  of  pajang  informal  visits,  he 
would  often  say  —  "  Liz'beth's  at  it  again — sweepin' 
and  cleanm',  so  I  cleared  out.  Never  see  /ler  with- 
out a  broom  in  her  hand.  I'd  a  good  deal  rather 
have  a  little  more  dirt,  than  so  much  tearin'  'round. 
'Liz'beth  tires  me,  with  her  ways." 

Yet,  when  in  the  indifference  of  despair  which 
seized  upon  Elizabeth  before  her  death,  she  al- 
lowed her  house  to  look  after  itself,  Anson  was  no 
belter  satisfied. 

"I've  come  over  to  find  a  place  to  set  down," 
he  would  tell  his  neighbors.  "'Liz'beth's  let 
things  'cumulate,  till  the  house  is  a  sight  to  see — 
she's  gettiu'  dreadful  slack,  somehow.  A  man 
likes  order  when  he  goes  home  to  rest  from  all  his 
cares." 

Even  when  she  died  she  displeased  him  by  choos- 
ing a  busy  season  for  the  occasion. 

"Just  like  'Liz'beth,  to  die  in  hayin'  time,"  he 
said.  "Everything  got  to  stop — hay  spoilin' — 
men  idle.  Women  never  seem  to  have  no  system 
about  work  matters— no  power  of  plannin'  things, 
to  make  it  convenient  like  for  men  folks." 

Yet  after  she  was  gone,  Anson  found  how  much 
help  she  had  been  to  him,  how  wonderful  her  econ- 
omy had  been,  how  light  her  expenditures.  He 
knew  he  could  never  find  any  one  to  replace  her, 
in  these  respects,  and  as  money  considerations  were 
the  main  ones  in  his  mind  he  believed  it  would  be 
the  better  economy  to  remain  a  widower,  and  hire 
his  work  done. 

So  during  those  most  critical  years  of  Ben's  life, 
he  had  been  without  a  woman's  guidance  or  care. 

At  eighteen   he  was  all  that  arrogance,  conceit, 


The  Old  Man's  Christrrms.  225 

selfishness,  and  high  temper  could  render  him. 
Yet  he  was  a  favorite  with  the  fair  sex  for  all  that, 
as  he  had  a  manly  figure,  and  a  warm,  caressing 
way  when  he  chose,  that  won  their  admiration  and 
pleased  their  vanity. 

Anson  English  favored  early  marriages,  and  be- 
gan to  think  it  would  be  better  all  around  if  Ben 
should  bring  a  wife  home. 

She  could  do  the  work  better  than  hired  help,  and 
keep  the  money  all  in  the  family.  And  Ben  would 
not  waste  his  time  and  means  on  half  a  dozen,  as 
he  was  now  doing,  but  would  stay  at  home,  no 
doubt,  and  settle  down  into  a  sensible,  practical 
business  man.  Yes,  Ben  ought  to  marry,  and  his 
father  told  him  so. 

Ben  smiled. 

"I'm  already  thinking  of  it,"  he  said.  He  had 
expected  opposition  from  his  father,  and  was  sur- 
prised at  his  suggestion. 

' '  Yes, ' '  continued  the  ' '  old  man, ' '  as  Ben  already 
designated  him,  "I'd  like  to  see  you  settle  down 
before  you're  twenty-one.  But  you  want  to  make 
a  good  choice.  There's  Abby  Wilson,  now.  She's 
got  the  muscle  of  a  man,  and  ain't  afraid  of  any- 
thing. And  her  father  has  a  fine  property— a 
growin'  property.  Abby'll  make  a  man  a  good, 
vigorous  helpmate,  and  she'll  bring  him  money 
in  time.     You'd  better  shine  up  to  Abby.  Ben. " 

Ben  gave  a  contemptuous  laugh.  "  I'd  as  soon 
marry  a  dressed-up  boy,"  he  said.  "She's  more 
like  a  boy  than  a  girl  in  her  looks  and  in  her  ways. 
I  have  other  plans  in  my  mind,  father,  more  to  my 
taste.  I  mean  to  marry  Edith  Gilman,  if  she'll 
take  me.  and  I  think  she  wnll." 

A  dark  frown  contracted  Anson  English's  brow. 

"  Edith  Gilman?"  herepeated;  "why,  that  puny 
schoolma'm,  with  her  baby  face  and  weak  voice, 
'D  nevei  help  you  to  get  a'livin',  Ben.  What  are 
you  thinkin'  of  ?  " 


226  Christmas  Tales. 

"  Of  love,  father,  I  guess.  I  love  her,  and  that's 
all  there  is  of  it.  And  I  shall  marry  her,  if  she'll 
take  me,  and  you  can  like  it  or  lump  it,  as  you 
please.  She's  a  good  girl,  and  if  she's  treated  well 
all  round,  she'll  make  a  good  wife,  and  she's  the 
only  woman  that  can  put  the  check  rein  on  me, 
when  I  get  in  my  tempers.  She'll  make  a  man  of 
me  yet." 

"But  she  can't  work,"  insisted  the  father. 
"  She  looks  as  white  and  puny  as  'Liz'beth  did  the 
year  she  died." 

"  She's  overworked  in  the  school-room.  I  mean 
to  take  her  home,  and  give  her  a  rest.  I  don't  ask 
any  woman  to  marry  me  and  be  my  drudge.  I  ex- 
pect my  wife  will  keep  help," 

The  old  man  groaned  aloud.  Ben's  ideas  were 
positively  ruinous.  If  he  married  this  girl,  it 
would  add  to,  not  decrease,  the  family  expenses. 
But  it  was  useless  to  oppose.  Ben  would  do  as  he 
pleased,  the  old  man  saw  that  plainly,  and  he 
might  as  well  submit. 

He  did  submit,  and  Ben  married  Edith  on  his 
twenty-first  birthday,  and  brought  her  home. 


II. 

Edith  was  a  quiet  little  creature,  with  a  soft  voice, 
and  a  pale,  sweet  face,  and  frail  figure.  She  came 
up  to  Anson  English  when  she  entered  the  house, 
and  put  her  hands  timidly  upon  his  arms. 

"I  want  you  to  love  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  had 
no  father  or  mother  since  I  can  remember.  I  want 
to  call  you  father,  and  I  want  to  make  you  happy 
if  I  can." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  how,"  the  old  man  retorted 
"Discharge  the  hired  girl,  and  make  good  bread. 
That'll  make  me  happy," — and  he  laughed 
harshly. 

Edith  shrank  from  his  rough  words,  so  void  of 


The  Old  Man's  Chrlstmm.  227 

the  sympathy  and  love  she  longed  for.  But  she 
discharged  the  girl  within  a  week,  and  tried  to 
make  good  bread.  It  was  not  a  success,  however, 
and  the  old  man  was  not  slow  to  express  his  dis- 
satisfaction.    Edith  left  the  table  in  tears. 

"Another  dribbler — 'Liz'beth  was  always  cryin' 
just  that  way  over  every  little  thing,"  sighed  the 
old  man. 

Edith  eventually  conquered  the  difficulties  of 
bread  making,  and  became  a  famous  cook.  But 
she  did  not  please  her  husband's  father  any  the 
better  by  this  achievement. 

"  You're  always  a-fixin'  up  some  new  sort  of 
trash  for  the  table, "  he  said  to  her  one  day.  ^'Des- 
sert is  it,  3-ou  call  it?  'Nuflf  to  make  a  man's  pa- 
tience desert  him  to  see  sugar  and  flour  wasted  so 
'Liz'beth  liked  your  fancy  cooking,  but  I  cured 
her  of  it." 

"Yes,  and  you  killed  her  too,"  cried  Edith,  for 
the  first  time  since  her  marriage  losing  control  of 
her  temper  and  answering  back.  "  Everybody  says 
you  worried  her  into  the  grave.  But  you  won't 
succeed  so  well  with  me.  I  will  live  just  to  defy 
you,  if  no  more.  And  I'll  show  you  that  I'll  not 
bear  everything,  too." 

It  was  all  over  in  a  moment,  and  it  was  not  re- 
peated. Indeed,  Edith  was  kinder  and  gentler 
and  more  submissive  in  her  manner  after  that  for 
days,  as  sweet  natures  always  are  when  they  have 
once  broken  over  the  rules  which  govern  their 
lives. 

Yet  the  old  man  always  spoke  of  Edith  as  a 
virago  after  that. 

"She's  worse'n  'Liz'beth,"  he  said,  "and  she 
had  a  temper  of  her  own  at  times  that  would  just 
.jzw^^  things." 

Ben  passed  most  of  his  evenings  and  a  good  p>art 
of  his  days  at  the  village  "store."  He  came  home 
the   worse   for    drink    occasionallv,    and    he   was 


228  Chistmas  Tales. 

absolutely  indifferent  to  all  the  work  and  care  of 
the  farm  and  family. 

"She's  just  like  'Liz'beth,"  the  old  man  said  to 
his  neighbors  ;  "  she  don't  make  homeentertainin' 
for  her  husband.  But  Ben  isn't  balanced  like  me, 
and  he  goes  wrong.  He's  excitable.  I  never  was. 
The  right  kind  of  a  woman  could  keep  him  at 
home." 

After  a  child  came  to  them  matters  seemed  to 
mend  for  a  time.  So  long  as  the  infant  lay  pink 
and  helpless  in  its  mother's  arms  or  in  its  crib,  it 
was  a  bond  to  unite  them  all. 

So  soon  as  it  began  to  be  an  active  child,  with 
naughty  ways  which  needed  correction,  it  was  an- 
other element  of  discord. 

The  old  man  did  not  think  Edith  capable  of  con- 
trolling the  child,  and  Ben  was  hasty  and  harsh, 
and  he  did  not  like  to  hear  the  baby  cry.  So  he 
stayed  more  and  more  at  the  store,  and  was  an 
object  of  fear  to  the  child  and  of  reproach  to  the 
mother  when  he  did  return. 

They  drifted  farther  apart,  and  the  old  man  con- 
stantly widened  the  breach  between  them.  They 
had  been  married  six  years,  and  the  baby  girl  was 
four  years  old,  when  Ben  struck  Edith  a  blow,  one 
day,  and  told  her  to  take  her  child  and  leave  the 
house. 

In  less  than  an  hour  she  had  gone,  no  one  knew 
whither. 

''She'll  come  back,  more's  the  pity,"  the  old 
man  said.  "  'Liz'beth,  she  started  off  to  leave  me 
once,  but  she  concluded  to  come  back  and  try  it 
over  again." 

But  Edith  did  not  come  back.  Months  after- 
ward they  heard  of  her  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
State  teaching  school  and  supporting  her  child. 

Ben  applied  for  a  divorce  on  the  plea  of  desertion. 
Edith  never  appeared  against  him,  and  he  obtained 
it. 


The  Old  Man's  Christmas.  229 

III. 

One  year  from  the  time  Edith  left  him,  he  mar- 
ried Abby  Wilson.  She  had  grown  into  a  volup- 
tuous though  coarse  maturity,  and  was  dashing  in 
dress  and  manner.  Her  father  had  recently  died, 
leaving  her  a  fine  property.  She  had  always  cov- 
eted Ben,  and  did  not  dela}'  the  nuptials  from  any 
sense  of  delicacy,  but  rather  hastened  the  hour 
which  should  make  him  legally  her  own. 

The  old  man  was  highly  pleased  at  the  turn  affairs 
had  taken.  After  all  these  years  Ben  was  united 
to  the  woman  he  had  chosen  for  him  so  long  ago, 
and  now  surely  Ben  would  settle  down,  and  take 
the  care  off  his  shoulders — shoulders  which  were 
beginning  to  feel  the  weight  of  years  of  labor.  In 
truth,  the  old  man  was  breaking  down. 

He  fell. ill  of  a  low  fever  soon  after  Ben's  second 
marriage,  and  when  he  rose  from  his  bed  he  seemed 
to  have  grown  ten  years  older.  He  was  more 
childish  in  his  fault-finding,  and  more  irritable  than 
ever  before,  and  this  new  wile  of  Ben  s  had  little 
patience  with  him.  She  was  not  at  all  like  Edith. 
She  bullied  him,  and  frightened  him  into  silence 
when  he  began  to  find  fault  with  her  extravagances. 
For  she  was  extravagant — there  was  no  denying 
that.  She  cared  only  for  show  and  outward  appear- 
ance. She  neglected  her  home  duties,  and  often 
left  the  old  man  to  prepare  his  own  food,  while  she 
and  Ben  dashed  over  the  country,  or  through  the 
neig'iboring  villages,  behind  the  blooded  span  she 
had  insisted  upon  his  purchasing  soon  after  their 
marriage. 

Poor  old  Anson  English  !  He  was  nearing  his 
sixiieth  year  now,  and  he  looked  and  seemed  much 
older.  Ben  was  his  only  earthly  tie,  and  the  hope 
and  stay  of  his  old  age.  And  he  was  but  a  reed — 
a  reed.  His  father  saw  that  at  last.  Ben  would 
never  develop  into  a  practical  business  man.     He 


230  Christmas  Tales. 

vas  unstable,  lazy,  and  selfish.  And  this  new  wife 
seemed  to  encourage  him  in  every  extravagant 
folly,  instead  of  restraining  him  as  the  old  man 
had  hoped.  And  somew^ay  Ben  had  never  been 
the  same  since  Edith  went  away.  He  had  been 
none  too  good  or  kind  to  his  father  before  that  ; 
but  since  then — well,  when  she  went,  it  seemed  to 
Anson  that  she  took  with  her  whatever  of  gentle- 
ness or  kindness  lurked  in  Ben's  nature,  and  left 
only  its  brutality  and  selfishness. 

And  strive  as  he  would  to  banish  the  feeling,  the 
old  man  missed  the  child. 

Ah,  no  !  he  was  not  happy  in  this  new  state  of 
affairs,  which  he  had  so  rejoiced  over  at  the  first. 
He  grew  very  old  during  the  next  two  years.  Like 
all  men  who  worry  the  lives  of  women  in  the  do- 
mestic circle,  he  was  cowardly  at  heart.  And  Ben's 
new  wife  frightened  him  into  silent  submission  by 
her  masciiline  assumption  of  authority  and  her 
loud  voice  and  well-defined  muscle. 

He  spoke  little  at  home  now.  but  he  still  paid  fre- 
quent visits  to  his  neighbors,  and  he  remained  firm 
in  the  Adam-like  idea  that  Elizabeth  had  been  the 
root  of  all  evil  in  his  life. 

"Yes,  Ben's  letting  the  plr.ce  run  down  pretty 
bad,"  he  confessed  to  a  neighbor  who  had  broached 
the  subject.  "Ben's  early  trainin'  wasn't  right. 
'Liz'beth,  she  let  him  do  'bout  as  he  pleased.  'Liz'- 
beth  never  had  no  notions  of  how  a  boy  should  be 
trained.  He'd  a'  come  out  all  right  if  I'd  a'  man- 
aged him  from  the  start." 

Strange  to  say,  he  never  was  known  to  speak  one 
disparaging  word  of  Abby,  Ben's  second  wife.  Her 
harshness  and  neglect  were  matters  of  common 
discussion  in  the  neighborhood,  but  the  old  man, 
who  had  been  so  bitter  and  imjust  toward  his  own 
wife  and  Edith,  seemed  to  feel  a  curious  respect  for 
this  Amazon  who  had  subjugated  him.  Or,  per- 
haps, he  remembered  how  eager  he  had  been  for 


The  Old  Man's  Christmas.  231 

the  marriage,  and  his  pride  kept  him  silent.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  he  bore  her  neglect,  and  later  her 
abuse,  with  no  word  of  complaint,  and  even  spoke 
of  her  sometimes  with  praise. 

"She's  a  brave  one,  Abby  is,"  he  would  say. 
"  She  ain't  afraid  of  nothin'  or  nobody,  Ef  she'd 
a'  been  a  man,  she'd  a'  made  a  noise  in  the  world." 

Ben  drank  more  and  more,  and  Abby  dressed  and 
drove  in  like  ratio.  The  farm  ran  down,  and  debts 
accumulated — debts  which  Abby  refused  to  pay 
with  her  money,  and  the  old  man  saw  the  savings 
of  a  long  life  of  labor  squandered  in  folly  and 
vice. 

People  said  it  was  turning  his  brain ,  for  he  talked 
constantly  of  his  poverty,  often  walking  the  streets 
in  animated  converse  with  himself.  And  at  length 
he  fell  ill  again,  and  was  wildly  delirious  for  weeks. 
It  was  a  high  fever  ;  and  when  it  left  him,  he  was 
totally  blind,  and  quite  helpless. 

He  needed  constant  care  and  attention.  He 
could  not  be  left  alone  even  for  an  hour  ;  Ben  was 
seldom  at  home,  and  Abby  rebelled  at  the  confine- 
ment and  restraint  it  imposed  upon  her.  Hired 
help  refused  to  take  the  burden  of  the  care  of  the 
troublesome  old  man  without  increased  wages,  and 
Ben  could  not  and  Abby  would  not  incur  this  added 
expense.  Servants  gave  warning  ;  Ben  drank  more 
deeply  and  prolonged  his  absences  from  home,  and 
Abby  finally  carried  out  a  resolve  which  had  at 
first  caused  even  her  hard  heart  some  twinges. 

She  made  an  application  to  the  keeper  of  the 
County  Poor  to  admit  her  husband's  father  to  the 
department  of  the  incurably  insane,  which  was  ad- 
jacent  to  the  Poor  House. 

"He's  crazy,"  she  said,  "just  as  crazy  as  can  be. 
We  can't  do  anything  with  him.  He  needs  a 
strong  man  to  look  after  him.  Ben's  never  at  home, 
and  he  has  everything  to  look  after  any  way,  and 
can't  be  broken  of  his  rest,  and  the  old  man  talks 


232  Christmas  Tales. 

and  cries  half  the  night.  I'm  not  able  to  take  care 
of  him — I  seem  to  be  breaking  down  myself,  with 
all  I  have  to  endure,  and  besides  it  isn't  safe  to 
have  him  in  the  house.  I  think  he's  getting  worse 
all  the  time.  He'd  be  better  off,  and  we  all  would, 
if  he  was  in  the  care  of  the  county." 

The  authorities  looked  into  the  matter,  and 
found  that  at  least  a  portion  of  the  lady's  state- 
ments were  true.  It  was  quite  evident  that  the 
old  man  would  be  better  off  in  the  County  House 
than  he  was  in  the  home  of  his  only  son.  So  he 
was  taken  away,  and  Abby  had  her  freedom  at 
last. 

"  We  are  going  to  take  you  where  you  will  have 
medical  treatment  and  care  ;  it  is  your  daughter's 
request,"  they  told  him  in  answer  to  his  trembling 
queries. 

"Oh!  yes,  yes — Abby  thinks  I'll  get  my  sight 
back,  I  suppose,  if  I'm  doctored  up.  Well,  maybe 
so,  but  I'm  pooty  old — pooty  old  for  the  doctors  to 
patch  up.  But  Abby  has  a  powerful  mind  to  plan 
things — a  powerful  mind.  'Liz'beth  never  would 
a'  thought  of  sending  me  away — '  Liz'beth  was  so 
easy  like.  Abby  ought  to  a'  been  a  man,  she  had. 
She'd  a'  flung  things." 

So  he  babbled  on  as  they  carried  him  to  the  Poor 
House. 

It  was  November,  and  the  holidays  were  close  at 
hand.  Thanksgiving,  Christmas,  New  Year. 
Abby  meant  to  enjoy  them,  and  invited  all  her 
relatives  to  a  time  of  general  feasting  and  merry- 
making. 

"  I  feel  as  if  a  great  nightmare  were  lifted  off  my 
heart  and  brain,  now  the  old  man  has  gone,"  she 
said.  "  He  will  be  so  much  better  off,  and  get  so 
much  more  skillful  treatment,  you  know,  in  a  place 
like  that.  They  are  very  kind  in  that  institution, 
an'1  so  clean  and  nice,  and  he  will  have  plenty  of 
Company  to  keep  him  from  being  lonesome.     We 


The  Old  Mau\<  Chridmwi.  233 

have  been  all  through  it,  during  the  last  year,  or 
else  we  never  should  have  sent  him  there.  It  is 
really  an  excellent  home  for  him." 


It  was  just  a  year  later  when  a  delicate,  sweet- 
faced  woman  was  shown  through  the  wards  of  that 
"  excellent  home  "  for  the  poor  and  unfortunate. 
She  walked  with  nervous  haste,  and  her  eyes 
glanced  from  room  to  room,  and  from  face  to  face, 
as  if  seeking,  yet  dreading,  some  object. 

Presently  the  attendant  pushed  open  a  partly 
closed  door,  which  led  into  a  small,  close  room, 
ventilated  only  by  one  high,  narrow  window. 

"  This  is  the  room,  I  believe,"  he  said,  and  the 
lady  stepped  in — and  paused.  The  air  was  close 
and  impure,  and  almost  stifled  her. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  she  saw  a  large 
crib  with  a  cover  or  lid  which  could  be  closed  and 
locked  when  necessary,  but  which  was  raised  now. 
In  this  crib,  upon  a  hard  mattress  and  soiled  pil- 
low, lay  the  emaciated  form  of  an  old  man.  He 
turned  his  sightless  eyes  toward  the  door  as  he 
heard  the  sound  of  footsteps. 

"What  is  wanted?"  he  asked,  feeblv  ;  "does 
anybody  want  me?     Has  anybody  come  for  me?'" 

"  O  father,  father  !"  cried  the  woman  in  a  voice 
choked  with  sobs.  "  Don't  you  know  me?  It  is  I 
— and  I  have  come  to  take  you  away — to  take  you 
away  home  with  me.     Will  you  go  ?  " 

A  glow  of  delight  shone  over  the  old  man's 
wasted  face,  like  the  last  rays  of  the  sunlight  over  a 
winter  landscape.  He  half  arose  upon  his  elbow, 
and  leaned  forward  as  if  trying  to  see  the  speaker. 

"Why,  it's  Abby,  it's  Abby,  come  at  last!"  he 
said.  "You  called  me  father,  didn't  you — and 
you  was  crying,  and  it  made  your  voice  sound  kind 


234  Chrixtmas  Tales, 

o'  strange  and  broken  like.  But  you  must  be  Abby 
come  to  take  me  home.  Oh,  I  thought  you'd 
come  at  last,  Abby.  It  seems  a  long,  long  time 
since  I  came  away.  And  you've  never  been  to  see 
me  ;  no,  nor  Ben,  either.  But  you've  come  at  last, 
Abby,  you've  come  at  last.  Let  me  take  your  hand, 
-daughter,  for  I  can't  see  yet.  They  don't  seem  to 
help  me  here  as  you  thought  they  would.  And  I'm 
so  hungry,  Abby  ! — do  you  think  you  could  man- 
age to  get  the  old  man  a  little  something  to  eat 
before  we  start  home  ?  ' ' 

The  woman  had  grown  paler  and  paler  as  she 
listened  to  these  words  which  the  old  man  poured 
out  in  eager  haste,  like  one  whose  thoughts  and 
feelings  long  pent  within  himself  for  want  of  a 
listener  now  rushed  forth  pell-mell  into  speech. 

"He  does  not  know  me, "she  whispered — "he 
■does  not  know  me.  Well,  I  will  not  undeceive 
him  now.  He  is  happy  in  this  delusion, — let  him 
keep  it  for  the  present."     Then,  aloud,  she  said  : 

"  You  are  hungry,  father  ?  do  you  not  have  food 
enough  here?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  my  share,  Abby  ;  I  have  my  share. 
But  my  appetite's  varying,  and  sometimes  when 
they  bring  it  I  can't  eat  it,  and  then  when  I  want 
it  most  I  can't  get  it.  I'm  one  of  many  here,  and 
I've  been  so  lonesome,  Abby.  But  then  I  knew 
you'd  come  for  me  all  in  good  time.  And,  Ben — 
how  is  Ben,  Abby  ?  does  he  want  to  see  his  old 
father  again  ?  Ah,  Ben  was  a  nice  little  boy— a  nice 
little  boy.  But  'Liz'beth  wan'tno  kind  of  a  mother 
for  such  a  high-strung  lad.  And  then  he  hadn't 
oughter  married  that  sickly  sort  of  girl  that  ran  off 
an'  left  him.  Sakes  alive  !  what  a  temper  she  had  ! 
It  sort  of  broke  Ben  down  living  with  her  as  long 
as  he  did.  But  he  remembers  his  old  father  at  last, 
don't  he?  And  he  wants  to  have  me  home  to  die. 
Ah,  Ben  has  a  good  heart  after  all  !" 

"I  must  not  tell  him  ;  I  must  not,"  whispered 


Tke  Old  Man's  Chridmas.  235 

the  woman  as  she  listened,  "  Bitter  to  nie  as  his 
deception  is,  I  must  let  him  remain  in  it."  Then 
with  a  sudden  bracing  of  the  nerves,  and  a  visible 
efifort,  she  said  : 

"  Ben  is  away  from  home  now,  father.  He  will 
not  be  there  to  meet  you,  but  you'll  not  mind 
that :  I  shall  make  you  so  comfortable  ;  I  want  you 
at  home  during  the  holidays." 

So  he  went  out  from  the  horror  and  loneliness 
and  gloom  of  the  Poor  House,  to  the  comfortable 
home  which  Edith  had  provided  for  herself  and 
child  in  the  years  since  she  left  Ben.  Eva  was  a 
precocious  little  maiden  of  nine  now,  wise  and 
womanly  beyond  her  years.  So  soon  as  Edith 
learned  of  the  old  man's  desolate  fate,  she  resolved 
to  bring  him  home.  Eva  could  attend  to  his  wants 
during  the  day,  while  she  was  in  the  school-room, 
and  the  interrupted  studies  could  be  pursued  in 
the  evening.  Or  she  could  hire  assistance  if  he 
were  as  troublesome  as  report  had  said.  He  had 
been  a  harsh  old  man,  and  had  helped  to  widen 
the  breach  between  her  and  Ben.  But  he  was  the 
father  of  the  man  she  had  married,  and  she  could 
not  let  him  die  in  the  Poor  House.  So  she  brought 
him  home. 

"  Don't  I  hear  a  child's  voice  ?  "  he  asked,  as  Eva 
came  dancing  out  to  greet  them.  "  Who  is  it, 
Abby?'» 

"  Why,  it's  your  own  little  granddaughter  Eva," 
cried  the  child,  clasping  his  withered  hand  in  her 
two  soft  palms.  "Don't  you  remember  me? 
Mamma  says  you  used  to  love  me." 

Edith's  heart  stood  still.  Surely  now  he  would 
understand.  And  would  he  be  angry  and  harsh 
with  her  ? 

The  old  man's  face  lighted. 

"Ah,  I  see,  I  see,"  he  said  musingly,  "Abby  and 
Ben  have  taken  the  little  one  home.  It  must 
be  Edith  is   dead.     She    was  such  a  puny  thing.'" 


236  Christmas  Tales. 

Then  turning  his  face  to  the  woman  who  was 
guiding  his  faltering  footsteps,  he  asked  : 

"And  is  Edith  dead?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quietly,  *' Edith  is  dead." 
And  added    "  to yo7i,"  in  a  whisper. 

"  lie  must  never  be  undeceived,"  she  thought 
* '  It  would  be  too  severe  a  blow  ;  the  truth  might 
kill  him."     And  to  Eva  she  said  a  little  later  : 

''Dear,  your  grandfather  is  very  ill,  and  not 
quite  right  in  his  mind.  He  thinks  my  name  is 
Abby,  and  you  must  not  correct  him  or  dispute 
any  slrauge  thing  he  may  say." 

The  journey  left  the  old  man  very  weak  indeed, 
but  he  talked  almost  constantly. 

"  It  was  so  good  of  you,  Abby,  to  take  the  little 
girl  home,"  he  would  say.  "But  I  knowed  you 
had  a  good  heart,  and  Ben  too.  He  was  fond  of 
his  old  father,  spite  of  his  rough  ways.  It  was 
pooty  lonesome — pooty  lonesome,  off  there  at  that 
place — that  Institute  where  you  sent  me.  Some 
folks  said  it  was  the  Poor  House,  but  I  knew  bet- 
ter— I  knew  better.  Ben  and  you  would  never 
send  me  there.  I  s'pose  it  was  a  good  place,  but 
they  had  too  many  patients.  Sometimes  I  was 
cold  and  hungry  and  all  alone  for  hours  and  hours. 
Oh,  it's  goocl  to  be  back  home  with  5'ou — you, 
Abby — but  why  don't  Ben  come  ?  " 

"  Ben  is  away,  father." 

"  Oh.  yes,  yes.  Business,  I  suppose.  Ben'U 
turn  out  all  right  at  last.  I  always  thought  so. 
After  he  sort  o'  outgrows  'Liz'beth's  trainin'.  But 
I  hope  he'll  get  back  for  Christmas.  Somehow 
I've  been  thinkin'  lately  'bout  the  Christmas  days 
when  Ben  was  a  little  boy.  We  alius  put  some- 
thing in  his  stockin'  that  night,  no  matter  if  twan't 
no  raore'n  a  sweet  cake.  Sakes  alive  !  how  he 
prized  things  he  found  in  his  stockin'  Christmas 
xnornin's !  I  got  to  thinkin'  'bout  it  all  last 
Christmas  out  at  that  there  Institute,  and  I  just 


The  Old  Man\^  Chridmas.  237 

laid  an'  bawled  like  a  baby,  I  was  so  home-sick 
like.  Seemed  to  me  if  I  could  just  see  Ben's  face- 
again,  I'd  ask  notbin'  more  of  Heaven.  And  now 
I  thmk  if  I  can  just  hear  his  voice  again,  it'll  be 
enough.  Do  you  think  he'll  git  home  for  Christ- 
mas, Abby  ?  " 

"I  hope  so.  dear  father,  but  I  cannot  tell,'" 
Edith  answered  softly,  her  heart  seeming  to  break 
in  her  breast  as  she  listened. 

She  knew  very  well  that  Beu  would  not  go  across 
the  street  to  see  the  father  he  had  deserted,  and 
that  she  could  never  send  for  him  to  come  to  hef 
house,  to  pay  even  a  last  visit  of  mercy. 

"  What  will  I  do — how  can  I  explain  to  him, 
when  Christmas  comes  and  Ben  does  not  appear?  "" 
she  thought. 

But  the  way  was  shown  her  by  that  great  Peace- 
Maker  who  helps  us  out  of  all  difficulties  at  last. 

Christmas  Eve,  the  old  man's  constant  chatter 
grew  flighty  and  incoherent.  He  talked  of  people 
and  things  unknown  to  Edith,  and  spoke  his 
mother's  name  many  times.  Then  he  fell  asleep. 
In  the  morning  he  seemed  very  weak,  and  hi& 
voice  was  fainter. 

'*  Such  a  strange  dream  as  I  have  had,  'Lis'beth," 
he  said,  as  Edith  put  her  hand  on  his  brow,  and 
smoothed  back  the  thin,  white  hair. 

"Such  a  strange  dream.  I  thought  Ben  had 
grown  into  a  man,  and  had  left  me  alone — all 
alone  to  die.  I'm  so  glad  to  be  awake  and  find  it 
isn't  true.  How  dark  it  is,  and  how  long  the 
night  seems  !  To-morrow  is  Christmas.  Did  you 
put  something  in  Ben's  stockings,  'Lis'beth?  I 
have  forgotten." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Edith,  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  And  it's  gettin'  colder,  'Lis'betb.  Hadn't  you 
better  look  after  Ben  a  little?  See  if  he's  covered 
up  well  in  his  crib.  You're  so  careless,  'Lis'beth, 
the  boy'U  take  his  death  o'  cold  yet.     And  he's  all 


238  Christmas  Tales. 

I've  got.  He'll  make  a  fine  man,  a  fine  man  if  you 
don't  spoil  him,  'Lis'beth.  But  you  hain't  no  real 
sense  for  trainin'  a  boy,  somehow.  Is  he  covered 
up  ?     It's  bitter,  bitter  cold." 

"  He  is  well  covered,"  Edith  answered.  The  old 
man  seemed  to  doze  again.  Then  he  roused  a 
little. 

"It's  dawn,"  he  said.  "I  seethe  light  break- 
ing. Little  Ben'll  be  crawling  out  for  his  stockin' 
pooty  quick  :  I  oughter  had  the  fire  made  afore 
this,  to  warm  his  little  toes.  Strange  you  couldn't 
a'  waked  me,  Xiz'beth  !  You  don't  never  seem  to 
have  no  foresight." 

Then  the  old  man  fell  back  on  Edith's  arm, 
dead. 


The  Christmas  Goblins.  239' 


THE  CHRISTMAS  GOBLINS. 

BY   CHARLES    DICKENS- 

In  an  old  abbey  town,  a  long,  long  while  ago- 
there  officiated  as  sexton  and  gravedigger  in  the 
churchyard  one  Gabriel  Grubb.  He  was  an  ill  con- 
ditioned cross-grained,  surly  fellow,  who  consorted 
with  nobody  but  himself  and  an  old  wicker-bottle 
which  fitted  into  his  large,  deep  waistcoat  pocket. 

A  little  before  twilight  one  Christmas  Eve, 
Gabriel  shouldered  his  spade,  lighted  his  lantern, 
and  betook  himself  toward  the  old  churchyard,  for 
he  had  a  grave  to  finish  by  next  morning,  and 
feeling  very  low,  he  thought  it  might  raise  his 
spirits,  perhaps,  if  he  went  on  with  his  work  at 
once. 

He  strode  along  until  he  turned  into  the  dark 
lane  which  led  to  the  churchyard — a  nice,  gloomy, 
mournful  place  into  which  the  towns-people  did 
not  care  to  go  except  in  broad  daylight,  conse- 
quently he  was  not  a  little  indignant  to  hear  a 
young  urchin  roaring  out  some  jolly  song  about  a 
Merry  Christmas.  Gabriel  waited  until  the  boy 
came  up.  then  rapped  him  over  the  head  with  his 
lantern  five  or  six  times  to  teach  him  to  modulate 
his  voice.  And  as  the  boy  hurried  away,  with  his 
hand  to  his  head,  Gabriel  Grubb  chuckled  to  him- 
self and  entered  the  churchyard,  locking  the  gate 
behind  him. 

He  took  off  his  coat,  put  down  his  lantern,  and 
getting  into  an  unfinished  grave,  worked  at  it  for 
an  hour  or  so  with  right  good  will.  But  the 
earth  was  hardened  with  the  frost,  and  it  was  no 
easy  matter  to  break  it  up  and  shovel  it  out.     At 


240  Christmas  Tales. 

any  other  time  this  would  have  made  Gabriel  very 
miserable,  but  he  was  so  pleased  at  having  stopped 
the  small  boy's  singing  that  he  took  little  heed  of 
the  scanty  progress  he  had  made  when  he  had 
finished  work  for  the  night,  and  looked  down  into 
the  grave  wiih  grim  satisfaction,  murmuring  as  he 
gathered  up  his  things  : 

"Brave  lodgings  for  one,  brave  lodgings  for  one, 
A  few  feet  of  cold  earth  when  life  is  done." 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  he  laughed,  as  he  set  himself  down 
on  a  flat  tombstone,  which  was  a  favorite  resting- 
place  of  his,  and  drew  forth  his  wicker-bottle.  "  A 
cofi5n  at  Christmas  !  A  Christmas  box.  Ho  !  ho  ! 
ho!" 

**  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  repeated  a  voice  close  beside 
him. 

"  It  was  the  echoes,"  said  he,  raising  the  bottle 
to  his  lips  again, 

"It  was  not,"  said  a  deep  voice. 

Gabriel  started  up  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot 
with  terror,  for  his  eyes  rested  on  a  form  that  made 
his  blood  run  cold. 

Seated  on  an  upright  tombstone  close  tO'  him 
was  a  strange,  unearthly  figure.  He  was  sitting 
perfectly  still,  grinning  at  Gabriel  Grubb  with 
such  a  grin  as  only  a  goblin  could  call  up. 

"  What  do  you  here  on  Christmas  Eve?"  said 
the  goblin,  sternlj'. 

"  I  came  to  dig  a  grave,  sir,"  stammered  Gabriel. 

"What  man  w^anders  among  graves  on  such  a 
night  as  this?  "  cried  the  goblin. 

"Gabriel  Grubb  !  Gabriel  Grubb  !  "  screamed  a 
wild  chorus  of  voices  that  seemed  to  fill  the 
churchyard. 

"What  have  you  got  in  that  bottle?"  said  the 
goblin. 

"Hollands,  sir,"  replied  the  sexton,  trembling 
more  than   ever,    for    he   had    bought  it    of   the 


The  Christmas  Goblins.  241 

!«nugglers,  and  he  thought  his  questioner  might 
be  in  the  excise  department  of  the  goblins. 

"  Who  drinks  Hollands  alone,  and  in  a  church- 
yard on  such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 

"Gabriel  Grubb !  Gabriel  Grubb ! "  exclaimed 
the  wild  voices  again. 

"And  who.  then,  is  our  lawful  prize?"  exclaimed 
the  goblin,  raising  his  voice. 

The  invisible  chorus  replied,  "Gabriel  Grubb! 
Gabriel  Grubb!  " 

'"Well,  Gabriel,  what  do  you  say  to  this?  "  said 
the  goblin,  as  he  grinned  a  broader  grin  than 
before. 

The  sexton  gasped  for  breath. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this,  Gabriel?  " 

"It's — it's  very  curious,  sir,  very  curious,  sir, 
and  very  pretty,"  replied  the  sexton,  half-dead 
with  fright.  "  But  I  think  I'll  go  back  and  finish 
my  work,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"Work  !  "  said  the  goblin,  "what  work?  " 

"The  grave,  sir." 

"Oh!  the  grave,  eh?  Who  makes  graves  at  a 
time  when  other  men  are  merry,  and  takes  a 
pleasure  in  it?  " 

Again  the  voices  replied,  "Gabriel  Grubb! 
Gabriel  Grubb!" 

"I'm  afraid  my  friends  want  you,  Gabriel," 
said  the  goblin. 

"Under  favor,  sir,"  replied  the  horror-stricken 
sexton,  "  I  don't  think  they  can  ;  they  don't  know 
me,  sir;  I  don't  think  the  gentlemen  have  ever 
seen  me." 

"Oh  !  yes,  they  have.  We  know  the  man  who 
struck  the  boy  in  the  envious  malice  of  his  heart 
because  the  boy  could  be  merry  and  he  could  not." 

Here  the  goblin  gave  a  loud,  shrill  laugh  which 
the  echoes  returned  twenty-fold. 

"  I — I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  you,  sir,"  said  the 
sexton,  making  an  effort  to  move. 


242  Christinas  Tales. 

"Leave  us  !  "  said  the  goblin  ;  " ho  !  ho  !  ho ! '» 

As  the  goblin  laughed  he  suddenly  darted  toward 
Gabriel,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  collar,  and  sank 
with  him  through  the  earth.  And  when  he  had 
had  time  to  fetch  his  breath  he  found  himself  in 
what  appeared  to  be  a  large  cavern,  surrounded  on 
all  sides  by  goblins  ugly  and  grim. 

"And  now, "  said  the  king  of  the  goblins,  seated 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  on  an  elevated  seat— his 
friend  of  the  churchyard — "show  the  man  of 
misery  and  gloom  a  few  of  the  pictures  from  our 
great  storehouses." 

As  the  goblin  said  this  a  cloud  rolled  gradually 
away  and  disclosed  a  small  and  scantily  furnished 
but  neat  apartment.  Little  children  were  gathered 
round  a  bright  lire,  clinging  to  their  mother's 
gown,  or  gamboling  round  her  chair.  A  frugal 
meal  was  spread  upon  the  table  and  an  elbow-chair 
was  placed  near  the  fire.  Soon  the  father  entered 
and  the  children  ran  to  meet  him.  As  he  sat  down 
to  his  meal  the  mother  sat  by  his  side  and  all 
seemed  happiness  and  comfort. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?  "  said  the  goblin. 

Gabriel  murmured  something  about  its  being 
very  pretty. 

"Show  him  some  more,"  said  the  goblin. 

Many  a  time  the  cloud  went  and  came,  and 
many  a  lesson  it  taught  to  Gabriel  Grubb.  He  saw 
that  men  who  worked  hard  and  earned  their 
scanty  bread  were  cheerful  and  happy.  And  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  it  was  a  very  respectable 
sort  of  a  world  after  all.  No  sooner  had  he  formed 
it  than  the  cloud  closed  over  the  last  picture 
seemed  to  settle  on  his  senses  and  lull  him  to 
repose.  One  by  one  the  goblins  faded  from  his 
sight,  and  as  the  last  one  disappeared  he  sank  to 
sleep. 

The  day  had  broken  when  he  awoke,  and  found 
himself  lying  on   the   flat    gravestone,    with  the 


The  Christmas  Goblins.  243 

wicker- bottle  empty  by  his  side.  He  got  on  his 
feet  as  well  as  he  could,  and  brushing  the  frost  off 
his  coat,  turned  his  face  toward  the  town. 

But  he  was  an  altered  man,  he  had  learned  les- 
sons of  gentleness  and  good-nature  by  his  strange 
adventures  in  the  goblin's  cavern. 


244  Chrislma^  Tales. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  STAR. 

BY   REV.    C.    H.    MEAD. 

"Oh,  boys;  you  can  count  me  out  on  that — all 
I  can  get  goes  to  my  mother  and  sisters  for  Christ- 
mas." 

The  speaker  was  a  manly  little  newsboy,  with 
good  features,  a  clean  face  and  bright  eyes.  His 
clothes  looked  neat,  though  they  were  adorned 
with  numerous  patches. 

* '  But  see  here,  Will.  Christmas  only  comes  once 
a  year,  and  why  shouldn't  we  fellers  have  our  ban- 
quet as  well  as  the  silk-stockings?  What  would 
they  know  about  things  going  on  in  the  world 
anyway,  if  we  newsboys  didn't  supply  'em  with 
papers  ?  All  in  favor  of  having  a  banquet,  hold 
up  yer  hands  !  " 

Up  went  a  score  of  hands — some  dirty,  some 
clean  and  some  speckled,  but  Will's  hand  remained 
down.  "See  here,  Will,  what's  the  reason  you 
won't  stay  by  us  ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said : 
"  Boys,  it's  mighty  close  times  up  at  our  house ; 
fried  chicken  and  pound  cake  don't  come  our  way, 
turkeys  roost  too  high  for  us,  and,  and— well,  boys, 
if  you  must  know  it,  about  the  only  good  thing  we 
kids  have  up  there  is  our  mother's  love.  See  these 
patches !  My  mother  put  them  on.  See  these 
stockings !  My  mother  has  been  mending  this 
same  pair  of  stockings  for  more  than  a  year,  and 
she  washes  and  irons  them  after  I've  gone  to  bed 
at  night.  Every  stitch  of  mother's  needle  and 
thread  is  a  stitch  of  love,  and  one  night  not  long 
^go,  I  opened  my  eyes  and  saw  my  mother's  tears 


The  Song  of  the  Star.  245 

dropping  on  the  sleeve  of  my  coat  at  the  same 
time  she  was  putting  the  patch  on  this  elbow.  I 
tell  you,  boys,  the  best  thing  I've  got  in  the  world 
is  my  mother,  and  the  best  Christmas  gift  I  ever 
had  is  my  mother's  love.  If  I  had  a  million  dol- 
lars, I'd  give  them  all  to  my  mother  in  return  for 
her  love.  No,  no,  boys  ;  no  banquet  for  me.  as  long 
as  I  know  my  mother  is  starving  herself  that  we 
children  may  have  more  to  eat." 

"Well,"  replied  one  of  the  boys,  "  if  I  had  a 
mother  like  that,  maybe  I'd  feel  the  same  way  ; 
but  all  we  get  at  our  house  is  a  good  licking  from 
a  drunken  mother,  and  I'm  going  in  for  a  square 
meal  at  Christmas,  if  I  never  has  another." 

The  boys,  gathered  on  the  sidewalk  by  one 
of  the  parks,  were  suddenly  startled  by  a  cry 
"  Look  out  there  !  "  and  the  next  moment  a  run- 
away horse  dashed  into  their  midst ;  little  Will  was 
knocked  over,  and  was  soon  carried  into  a  neigh- 
boring drug  store,  all  unconscious  of  what  had 
happened.  It  was  soon  discovered  that  his  arm 
was  broken,  and  his  body  bruised  in  a  number  of 
places.  The  moment  he  regained  consciousness 
aiid  found  what  had  occurred,  he  said  : 

'•  Take  me  to  my  mother  ;  she  will  take  care  of 
me  somehow,  though  this  isn't  exactly  the  kind  of  a 
Christmas  gift  I  meant  she  should  have.  Say,  boys, 
one  of  you  go  up  to  our  house,  and  tell  her  easy 
about  this  ;  don't  burst  in  sudden  and  scare  her,  but 
tell  her  it  isn't  dangerous,  and — well,  just  tell  her  I 
love  her." 

The  boys  wiped  their  eyes  and  one  of  them  said, 
"  This  busts  up  our  banquet,  fellers;  I'll  go  and 
tell  Will's  mother,  and,  say,  fellers,  shan't  I  tell 
her  we  will  give  our  banquet  money  to  help  her 
out  at  Christmas  ?  " 

A  hearty  "You  bet  we  will,"  was  the  response, 
as  big  Tom  sped  away  to  carry  the  news  to  Will's 
mother,  while  kind  hands  helped  carry  the  injured 


246  Christmas  Tales. 

boy  to  his  home.  It  was  a  poor  home  into  which 
he  was  borne,  but  everything  was  as  neat  and  tidy 
as  could  be.  A  woman  stood  at  the  door,  and  it 
needed  but  one  glance  to  know  that  she  was  the 
mother  of  Will.  Poverty  and  hunger  had  failed  to 
rob  her  of  her  beauty,  and  there  was  an  air  of 
refinement  about  her  that  told  of  better  days  and 
happier  surroundings. 

"Christmas  hasn't  come  yet,  mother,"  said 
Will,  "but  I  have.  Don't  you  worry  ;  I'll  come 
out  of  this  all  right,  and  we  will  have  a  good 
Christmas  yet." 

The  mother  kissed  him  tenderly  as  she  said, 
"  No,  I  will  not  worry,  so  long  as  I  have  God,  and 
you,  and  Josie,  and  Maggie,  and  Tot.  When 
Christmas  comes  round,  Will,  it  will  be  a  good  day 
whatever  it  brings." 

"It  will  bring  yer  heaps  of  things,  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford,"  blurted  out  big  Tom,  "for  we  fellers  has 
given  up  havin'  a  banquet,  and  are  going  to  bring 
yer  something  that  Will  can't  bring  now.  Don't 
yer  worry  a  bit,"  and  here  the  rough  fellow  burst 
into  tears,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

A  few  more  days,  and  then  Christmas  Eve  came 
round,  and  a  bright  night  it  was.  Will  lay  sleep- 
ing on  the  bed,  his  mother  near  bj',  pretending  to 
read,  but  in  reality  using  the  dear  old  Bible  as  a 
shield  to  hide  the  tears  that  trickled  down  her 
cheeks.  The  mother  was  thinking,  and  thinking 
fast,  too.  It  was  only  a  little  over  thirteen  years 
since  her  father  had  closed  the  door  in  her  face 
and  told  her  never  to  return.  The  man  she  loved 
was  not  the  fashionable  fop  her  father  had  selected 
for  her  as  a  husband,  and  secretly  she  had  given 
her  hand  to  the  man  to  whom  long  before  she  had 
given  her  heart.  All  went  well,  until  three  years 
ago,  when  her  husband  died  suddenly,  and  she 
found  herself  with  no  means  and  four  children  to 
take  care  of.     Too  proud  to  apply  to  her  father  for 


The  Song  of  the  Star.  247 

help,  she  struggled  on  as  best  she  could,  leaning 
hard  on  the  God  whom  her  mother  had  taught  her 
to  love. 

Her  children  were  a  comfort  to  her,  for  they  had 
inherited  the  natural  goodness  of  both  their 
parents.  Her  tears  now  fell  fast,  for  as  she  thought, 
she  also  listened  to  the  voices  of  her  two  youngest 
children  who  were  standing  over  by  the  window 
together. 

"Say,  Maggie,  does  yer  see  dat  bright  star  up 
dere  ?  I  wonder  if  dat  is  de  star  what  de  shepherds 
seen  !  If  it  is,  it  seems  to  be  looking  right  down 
at  us.  Maybe  Jesus  is  in  dat  star,  and  if  He  is,  He 
won't  forget  us,  will  He  ?  " 

And  Tot  looked  at  Maggie  as  the  latter  said  : 
"Jesus  loved  little  children,  Tot,  when  He  was  on 
the  earth,  and  I  guess  He  loves  them  yet.  That's 
a  very  bright  star — it  must  be  the  one  that  was  seen 
by  the  shepherds  at  Bethlehem." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  Tot,  " and  may  be  Josie 
will  hear  some  of  deni  '  good  tidings  '  while  she  is 
out.  Oh  !  Maggie,  Jesus  must  love  mother  ;  she  is 
so  good,  and  I  think  He  has  sent  that  star  to  tell  us 
to  look  out  for  good  news." 

And  where  was  Josie  all  this  time  ?  The  mother 
thought  she  had  gone  into  a  neighbor's,  where  she 
frequently  went,  and  so  felt  no  anxiety. 

Out  in  the  streets  of  the  big  city,  side  by  side 
walked  plenty  and  poverty,  wealth  and  wretched- 
ness, happiness  and  hunger,  gladness  and  grief. 
Some  carried  bundles  in  their  arms,  while  others 
carried  burdens  in  their  hearts.  Over  all,  the  good 
God  watched,  and  down  upon  all  the  bright  star 
shone.  But  what  is  that?  Suddenly  on  one  of  the 
streets  the  people  stopped  and  listened.  On  the 
steps  of  a  stoop  leading  up  to  a  lighted  mansion 
stood  a  little  girl  who  looked  Hke  a  bright  angel  from 
heaven.  Far  above,  overhead,  shone  the  bright 
star  that  Maggie  and  Tot  had  seen  ;  it  was  their 


248  Chridmas  Tale.-^. 

star  and  it  was  her  star,  for  Josie,  too.  bad  discov- 
ered it.  and  somehow  felt  that  the  star  that  had 
brought  "  good  tidings  of  great  joy  "  to  the  shep- 
herds on  Bethlehem's  plains,  had  come  again  and 
to  bring  once  more  "good  tidings."  She  had 
mounted  the  steps  to  get  nearer  the  star,  and 
then  all  unconscious  of  the  people,  in  a  rich,  sweet 
voice,  she  sang  : — 

I  think,  when  I  read  that  sweet  story  of  old, 

When  Jesus  was  here  among  men  ; 
How  He  called  little  children,  as  lambs  to  His  fold  ; 

I  should  like  to  have  been  with  Him  then. 

I  wish  that  His  hands  had  been  placed  on  ray  head, 
That  His  arms  had  been  thrown  around  me  ; 

That  I  might  have  seen   His  kind  look,  when  He 
said, 
"  Let  the  little  ones  come  unto  Me." 

As  she  sang,  her  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  star,  and 
even  her  hands  were  lifted  toward  it.  The  people 
looked  at  her ;  an  angel  had  appeared  in  their 
midst — her  face,  her  voice,  her  upturned  eyes,  her 
uplifted  hands,  held  them  spell-bound,  until  some 
one  looking  up  in  the  direction  she  pointed,  cried 
"Out:  "See  that  star!"  Heavenward  went  the 
gaze  of  the  multitude,  and  once  more  there  seemed 
to  come  to  them  a  voice,  saying:  "  Fear  not,  for  be- 
hold I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy,  which 
shall  be  to  all  people."  The  face  of  Josie  was  illu- 
mined and  even  the  multitude  that  had  gathered, 
failed  to  alarm  her.  The  star  with  its  "good  tidings" 
was  over  her  head  and  in  her  heart  as  well.  "  Who 
are  you,  my  child?"  said  a  gentleman  who  had  come 
upon  the  steps  where  she  stood.  "Please,  sir,  I 
am  Josie  Sandford."  The  gentleman  gave  a  start 
and  said,  "  Sandford,  Josie  Sandford?  Pray  where 
^o    you    live,  Josie?"       She    told    him,    and    in 


The  Song  of  the  Star.  24^ 

response  to  other  questions,  told  of  mother,  brother 
and  sisters. 

*'  Oh,  sir  ;  do  you  see  the  star  ?  I  am  sure  it  ha& 
some  'good  tidings'  for  us  at  our  house,  and  I 
must  hurry  heme  and  tell  mother  all  about  it. 
Good-bye." 

Away  sped  the  child  until  she  reached  her  home, 
and  then  entering  the  room  quietly,  she  went  up  ta 
her  mother  and  said:  "Have  j^^ou  seen  the  star, 
mother?"  Maggie  and  Tot  cried  out,  "We've  seen 
it  ;  come,  mother,  and  look  quick."  The  motht-r 
went  quietly  to  the  window,  and  there  beheld  a 
star  of  wonderful  brightness,  and  as  she  gazed,  l:ef 
face  took  en  a  new  light  and  into  her  heart  came  a 
great  peace.  The  sleeping  boy  was  awakened  by 
the  voices,  and  he,  too,  made  his  way  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  at  the  star.  "At  evening  time  it 
shall  be  light." 

It  harl  come,  and — something  else  had  come,  too, 
for  steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  followed  by  a 
knock  on  the  door,  on  opening  which,  in  came  a 
company  of  newsboys  headed  by  big  Tom.  They 
bore  bundles  and  baskets,  provisions  and  poultry, 
sunshine  and  sugar,  toys  and  turnips,  good-will 
and  grapes,  cheer  and  celery,  and  things  that  no 
one  but  those  who  had  lacked  for  them,  would  ever 
have  thought  of.  Big  Tom  was  the  spokesman  for 
the  happy  company. 

"If  yer  please,  Mrs.  Sandford,"  hesaid,  "there's 
our  banquet.  We  wasn't  going  to  come  until  to- 
morrow morning,  but  when  we  got  the  things  all 
together,  we  just  couldn't  wait  any  longer,  so  we've 
brought  'em  to-night,  and  if  it  isn't  too  soon,  ma'am, 
we  wishes  you,  and  Will,  and  Josie,  and  Mag- 
gie, and  Tot  a  'Merry  Christmas,'  doesn't  we, 
boys  ? ' ' 

"Indeed  we  does!"  responrled  the  boys.  Tb.e 
faces  of  that  mother  and  her  children  were  a  sight 
to  behold.     Smiles  and  tears  greeted  the  boys,  and 


250  Chrustmas  Tales. 

the  mother  and  her  three  girls  had  a  kiss  for  each 
of  them.  Then  Tot  said  :  "  I  knowed  it.  I  knowed 
it !  De  star  had  Jesus  in  it,  and  I  knowed  He  see 
Maggie  and  me  looking  up  at  it." 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  "you  shall 
have  your  banquet,  for  I  want  you  all  to  take 
Christmas  dinner  with  us  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  boys,  you  shall  all  take  dinner  with  Mrs. 
Sandford  and  her  children  to-morrow,  but  it  must 
be  at  the  home  of  her  parents  and  not  here,"  said 
a  gentleman  who  had  not  been  noticed  as  he  stood 
in  the  hallway. 

Mrs.  Sandford  started  as  the  owner  of  the  voice 
entered  the  room,  and  little  Josie  sprang  toward 
him  at  the  same  moment.  She  resembled  her 
mother  and  was  her  namesake  as  well.  The  gen- 
tleman stretched  out  his  arms  toward  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford as  he  said  to  her  : 

' '  Josie,  can  you  forgive  me  for  the  harshness  with 
which  I  drove  you  years  ago  from  my  door  ?  God 
only  knows  how  I  have  suffered,  and  for  years  I  have 
hunted  high  and  low  for  you,  and  have  advertised 
time  and  again.  But  all  was  in  vain,  until  to-night 
I  saw  your  face  and  heard  your  voice  once  more, 
as  my'grandchild,  Josie,  stood  singing  on  the  steps 
and  gazing  at  the  star.  In  her  I  found  you  again, 
and  oh,  how  your  mother  and  I  have  prayed  for  this 
time  to  come." 

Long  before  he  had  finished,  the  daughter  was 
in  her  father's  arms  once  more,  and  the  children 
were  clinging  to  their  new-found  grandparent. 
The  newsboys  looked  on  in  wonder,  and  suddenly 
little  Tot  ran  to  the  window  and  then  cried  out— 
"Oh,  grandpa,  the  star  is  here  yet,  and  it  shines 
brighter  than  before,"  and  she  threw  a  kiss  up  to 
the  star. 

Christmas  morning  came  and  found  them  all  in  a 
home  of  plenty.  A  chair  that  had  long  stood  va- 
cant at  that  table,  was  once  more  filled,  and  near 


TJie  Song  of  the  Star.  25^ 

it  were  four  other  chairs  for  the  new-found  grand- 
children. Was  it  a  "Merry  Christmas,"  did  you 
inquire  ?  Just  ask  tliose  newsboys  who  came  at  two 
o'clock  if  they  ever  had  such  a  banquet  before  or 
since,  or  whether  they  ever  saw  a  home  in  which, 
the  "Star  of  Eethlehem  "  shone  with  greater 
splendor.  And  over  the  earth  the  star  still  shines, 
and  will  continue  to  shine  until  all  mankind  shall 
yet  have  a  ' '  Merry  Christmas. ' ' 


252  Christmas  Talcs. 


INDIAN  PETE'S  CHRISTMAS  GIFT. 

BY  HERBERT  W.    COLLINGWOOD. 

The  moon  was  just  peeping  over  the  pines  as 
Fete  Shivershee  slunk  down  the  road  from  the 
lumber  camp  into  the  forest.  Pete  did  not  present 
a  surpassingly  dignified  appearance  as  he  skulkea 
through  the  clearing,  but  he  was  not  a  very  dig- 
nified person  even  at  his  best. 

Most  persons  would  have  said,  I  think,  that 
Pete's  method  of  departure  was  hardly  appropriate 
for  one  who  had  been  selected  by  the  citizens  of 
Carter's  Camp  to  go  on  an  important  mission.  But 
Pete  had  his  own  reasons  for  his  actions.  He 
crept  along  behind  the  stumps  and  logs  till  he 
reached  the  forest.  Then,  as  if  the  shadow  gave 
him  fresh  courage  and  dignity,  he  drew  himself 
upright,  and  started  at  a  sharp  trot  down  the  road 
toward  the  village. 

We  have  said  that  Pete  had  reasons  for  his  con- 
duct. They  were  good  ones.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  an  Indian.  Not  a  "noble  son  of  the  forest," 
such  as  Cooper  loved  to  picture,  but  a  mean,  dirty, 
yellow-faced  "/w/'w?/."  Lazy  and  worthless,  pick- 
ing up  a  living  about  the  lumber  camps,  working 
as  little  as  he  could,  and  eating  and  drinking  as 
much  as  possible  :  such  was  the  messenger.  The 
mission  was  worse  yet. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve,  The  snow  covered  the 
ground,  and  the  ice  had  stilled  for  the  time  the 
mouth  of  the  roaring  river.  It  was  Saturday  night 
as  well  ;  and  for  some  time  past  the  lumbermen 
had  been  considering  the  advisability  of  keeping 


Indian,  Pttt'a  Citriatnia-s  Gift  253 

the  good  old  holiday  with  some  form  of  celebration 
suited  to  the  occasion. 

The  citizens  of  Carter's  Camp  were  not  remark- 
ably fastidious.  They  knew  but  one  form  of  cele- 
bration, and  they  had  no  thought  of  hunting  out 
new  ones.  The  one  thing  needful  to  make  a  cele- 
bration completely  successful  was — liquor.  This 
they  must  have  in  order  to  do  justice  to  the  day. 

The  temperance  laws  of  Carter's  were  very  str  ct. 
Not  that  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  place  was  par- 
ticularly high,  but  it  had  been  noticed  that  the 
amounts  of  labor  and  whisky  were  in  inverse  pro- 
portion. The  more  whisky,  the  less  inbor.  It 
was  a  pure  question  of  political  economy.  The 
foreman  had  often  stated  that  he  would  prosecute 
to  the  fullest  extent  of  the  law  the  first  maucau^jht 
bringing  whisky  into  camp.  The  foreman  did 
not  attempt,  perhaps,  to  deny  that  his  knowledge 
of  the  law  was  somewhat  crude.  He  had  forcibly 
stated,  however,  that  should  a  case  be  brought  be- 
fore him,  he  would  himself  act  as  judge  and  jurv, 
while  his  fist  and  foot  would  take  the  place  of  wit- 
ness and  counsel.  There  was  something  so  terrible 
in  this  statement,  coming  as  it  did  from  the  largest 
man  in  camp,  that  very  little  whisky  had  thus  far 
been  brought  in. 

Ch-istmas  had  come,  and  the  drinkincr  element 
in  Carter's  Camp  proposed  that  Pete  Shivershee — 
the  "Injun" — be  sent  to  town  for  a  quantity  of 
the  liquid  poison,  that  the  drinkers  might  "enjoy  " 
themselves. 

Bill  Gammon  found  Pete  curled  up  by  the  stove. 
He  took  him  out  of  doors  and  explained  the  busi- 
ness in  hand.  Bill  prided  himself  somewhat  on 
his  ability  to  "git  work  out  of  Injuns."  Pete 
muttered  only  "all  right."  He  took  the  money 
Bill  gave  him,  and  then  slunk  away  down  the  road 
for  the  forest,  as  we  have  seen  him. 


254  Christmas  Tales. 

Bill  felt  so  confident  of  the  success  of  his  experi- 
^nent  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  inform  the  boys 
that  Pete  was  "  dead  sure  "  to  return.  He  would 
stake  his  reputation  upon  it. 

Pete  was  in  a  hard  position.  If  he  loved  any- 
thing in  this  world,  it  was  whisky.  If  there  was 
anything  he  feared,  it  was  Bill's  fist.  The  two 
were  sure  to  go  together.  The  money  jingling  in 
his  pocket  suggested  unlimited  pleasures,  but  over 
every  one  hung  Bill's  hard  fist.  He  ran  several 
miles  through  the  forest,  till,  turning  a  corner  of 
the  road,  he  came  upon  a  little  clearing,  in  which 
stood  a  small  log  house.  Pete  knew  the  place 
w^ell.  Here  lived  Jeff  Hunt  with  his  wife,  a  French 
woman,  and  their  troop  of  children. 

Jeff  was  a  person  of  little  importance  by  the  side 
of  his  wife,  though,  like  all  "lords  of  creation," 
he  considered  himself  the  legal  and  proper  head 
of  the  family,  as  well  as  one  of  the  mainstays  of 
society.  His  part  of  the  family  government  con- 
sisted, for  the  most  part,  in  keeping  the  house 
supplied  with  wood  and  water,  and  in  smoking  his 
comfortable  pipe  in  the  corner,  while  his  wife  bent 
over  her  tub. 

Mrs.  Hunt  was  the  only  woman  near  the  camp, 
and  so  all  the  laundry  work  fell  to  her.  Laundry 
work  in  the  pine  woods  implies  mending  and 
darning,  as  well  as  washing  and  ironing,  and  the 
poor  little  woman  had  her  hands  full  of  work 
surely.  It  was  rub,  rub,  rub,  day  after  day,  over 
the  steaming  tub,  with  the  children  running  about 
like  little  wolves,  and  Jeff  kindly  giving  his  advice 
from  his  comfortable  corner.  And  even  after  the 
children  were  in  bed  at  night,  she  must  sit  up  and 
mend  the  clean  clothes. 

What  a  pack  of  children  there  were  !  How  rough 
and  strong  they  seemed,  running  about  all  day,  all 
but  poor  little  Marie,  the  oldest.  She  had  never 
been   strong,  and   now  at   last  she  was  dying  of 


Indian  Peters  Ch^mas  Gift.  255 

consumption.  She  could  not  sit  up  at  all,  but  lay  all 
day  on  the  little  bed  in  the  comer,  watching  her 
mother  with  sad,  beautiful  eyes. 

The  brave  little  Frenchwoman's  heart  almost 
failed  her  at  times,  as  she  saw  how  day  by  day  the 
little  form  grew  thinner,  the  eyes  more  beautiful, 
the  cheeks  more  flushed.  She  knew  the  signs  too 
well,  but  there  was  nothing  she  could  do. 

Pete  was  a  regular  visitor  at  Jeff's  and  always  a 
welcome  one.  His  work  was  to  carry  the  washing 
to  and  from  camp.  He  came  nearer  to  feeling  like 
a  man  at  Jeff's  house  than  at  any  other  place  he 
knew  of.  Everyone  but  Mrs.  Hunt  and  little 
Marie  called  him  only  "Injun,"  but  they  always 
said  "Mr.  Shivershee."  The  "  Meester  Shiver- 
shee  "  of  the  little  Frenchwoman  was  the  nearest 
claim  to  respectability  that  Pete  felt  able  to  make. 
One  night  while  carrying  home  the  clothes,  he 
dropped  them  in  the  mud.  He  never  minded  the 
whipping  Bill  Gammon  gave  him  half  as  much  as 
he  did  poor  Mrs.  Hunt's  tears,  to  think  how  her 
work  had  gone  for  nothing. 

As  Pete  came  trotting  down  the  road,  Jeff  stood 
in  front  of  his  house  chopping  stove-wood  from  a 
great  log.  A  lantern,  hung  on  a  stump,  provided 
light  for  his  purpose.  Pete  stopped  from  sheer 
force  of  habit  in  front  of  the  house,  and  Jeff,  glad 
of  any  chance  to  interrupt  his  work,  paused  to  talk 
with  him. 

"  Walk  in,  Tnjun,"  said  Jeff,  hospitably.  "Yer 
clo'es  ain't  quite  ready,  but  the  woman  will  hev  'em 
all  up  soon — walk  in." 

It  suddenly  came  over  Pete  that  this  was  his 
night  for  taking  the  clothes  home,  but  his  present 
errand  was  of  far  more  importance  than  mere 
laundry  work. 

"  Me  no  stop.  I  goin'  ter  town.  Great  work. 
Large  bizness."  By  which  vague  hints  he  meant 
no  doubt  to  impress  Jeff  with  a  sense  of  the  dignity 


256  Christmas  Tales. 

of  his  mission,  and  yet  cunningly  to  keep  its  object 
concealed. 

"  Goin'  to  town,  be  ye?  Great  doin's  ter  camp 
ter-morrer,  I  s'pose.  I'll  be  round  ef  I  kin  git 
away,  but  walk  in,  Injun,  an*  git  yer  supper,  an'  see 
the  wimmin,"  and  Jeff  opened  the  door  for  Pete  to 
pass  in. 

The  thought  of  supper  was  too  much  for  Pete 
and  he  slunk  in  after  Jeff  and  stood  in  the  corner 
by  the  door.  The  room  was  hardly  an  inviting 
one,  and  yet  if  Pete  had  been  a  white  man  some 
thoughts  of  "home,  sweet  home,"  must  have 
passed  through  his  mind.  But  he  was  only  a  de- 
spised "  Injun." 

A  rough  board  table  was  laid  for  supper  at  one 
^ide  of  the  room.  In  the  corner  little  Marie  lay 
with  the  firelight  falling  over  her  poor  thin  face. 
Pete  must  have  felt,  as  he  looked  at  her,  like  some 
hopeless  convict  gazing  through  his  prison  bars 
upon  some  fair  saint  passing  before  him.  She 
seemed  to  be  in  another  world  than  his ;  there 
seemed  between  them  a  gulf  that  could  not  be 
bridged.  Three  of  the  larger  children  were  sob- 
bing in  the  corner,  while  the  rest  formed  a  sorrow- 
ful group  about  an  old  box  in  which  were  two  or 
three  simple  plants  frozen  and  yellow.  Mrs.  Hunt 
was  frying  pork  over  the  hot  stove.  As  she  looked 
up  at  Pete,  he  noticed  that  she  had  been  crj'ing. 

Jeff  was  the  very  prince  of  hosts.  He  made  haste 
to  make  Pete  feel  at  home. 

"  Set  by,  Injun.  So  the  boys  is  goin'  ter  kinder 
cellybrate  ter-morrer,  be  they  ?  " 

But  Pete  felt  that  his  mission  must  not  be  dis- 
closed. "  What  matter  is  with  kids  ?  "  he  asked, 
to  change  the  subject. 

"Oh,  they're  jest  a-yellin'  about  them  flowers," 
explained  Jeff.  "  Ye  see  they  hev  been  a-trainin' 
some  posies  indoors  against  ter-morrer,  ye  know. 
Ter-morrer's  Christmas,  ye  see,  an'  them  kids  they 


Indian  Peters  Christmas  Gift  257 

hed  an  idee  they'd  hev  some  flowers  fer  ter  deke- 
rate  thet  corner  where  the  little  gal  is.  Little 
gals,  when  they  ain't  well,  like  sech  things,  ye 
know." 

Pete  nodded.  He  was  not  aware  of  this  love  of 
diminutive  females,  but  it  would  not  show  very 
good  breeding  to  appear  ignorant. 

"Wall,  ye  see,"  continued  Jeff,  "they  kep  the 
flowers  away  from  the  little  gal,  meanin'  ter  s'prise 
her  like.  But  jest  this  afceruoon  they  gut  ketched 
by  the  frost,  an'  now  there  they  be  stiffer'n  stakes. 
it  is  kinder  bad,  ain't  it — 'speciallj-  ez  it's  Christ- 
mas, too  ?  " 

"  What  Crissmus?  "  put  in  Pete. 

"Oh,  Christmas?  Wall,  it's  a  sorter  day  like. 
It's  somethin'  like  other  days,  an'  yet  it  ain't. 
But  then,  Injun,  I  don't  s'pose  ye  would  under- 
stand ef  I  wuz  ter  tell  ye."  And  Jeff  concealed 
his  own  ignorance,  as  many  wiser  and  better  men 
have  done,  by  assuming  a  tone  too  lofty  for  hfe 
audience. 

But  Mrs.  Hunt  could  explain,  even  if  Jeff  could 
not.  She  paused  on  the  way  to  the  siove  with  a 
dish  of  pork  in  her  hand. 

"  It  eez  the  day  of  the  good  Lord,  Meester  Shiv- 
ershee.  It  eez  the  day  when  the  good  Lord  He 
was  born,  and  when  all  people  should  be  glad." 
But  the  little  woman  belied  her  own  creed  as  she 
thought  of  little  Marie  and  the  dead  flowers. 

I  hardly  think  Pete  gained  a  very  clear  idea  of 
the  day,  even  from  Mrs.  Hunt's  explanation.  It 
was,  I  fear,  all  Greek  to  him. 

"  What  flowers  fer?  "  he  asked,  as,  in  response 
to  Jeff 's  polite  invitation,  he  "sat  by  "  and  began 
supper. 

"  Wall,  it's  a  sorter  idee  of  the  wimmin."  ex- 
plained Jeff.  "  Looks  kinder  pooty  to  see  flowers 
round  ;  ye  see,  kinder  slicks  up  a  room  like.  All 
these  things  hez  ter  come  inter  keepin*  house,  ye 


258  Christmas  Tales, 

see,  Injun."     With  which  broad  explanation  JefF 
helped  himself  to  a  piece  of  pork. 

But  Mrs.  Hunt  was  bound  to  explain  too.  Her 
explanation  was  certainly  more  poetic. 

' '  It  eez  the  way  we  show  our  love  for  the  good 
Lord,  Meester  Shivershee.  What  is  more  beautiful 
than  the  flowers  ?  We  take  the  flowers,  and  with 
much  love  we  place  them  upon  the  walls,  and  we 
make  others  happy  with  them,  and  the  good  Lord, 
who  loves  us  all.  He  is  pleased," — but  here,  seeing 
the  sobbing  children  and  the  frozen  plants,  she 
could  not  help  wiping  her  eyes  upon  her  apron. 

The  little  sufferer  on  the  bed  saw  this  action. 
Her  voice  w^as  almost  gone.  "Never  mind» 
mamma,"  she  whispered;  but  the  beautiful  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears,  for  she  knew  that  mamma 
would  mind — that  she  could  not  help  it. 

Pete  listened  to  all  this  attentively.  "Injun" 
that  he  was,  of  course  he  could  not  understand  it 
all,  and  yet  he  could  hardly  help  seeing  something 
of  the  sorrow  that  the  loss  of  the  flowers  had 
brought  upon  the  family.  He  finished  his  supper, 
and  then  slunk  out  at  the  door  again.  Jeff"  followed 
him  out. 

"  Little  gal  ever  git  well  ?  "  asked  Pete. 

"No;  I  don't  s'pose  she  will,"  answered  Jeff. 
"  There  ain't  no  hopes  held  out  fer  her.  Makes  it 
kinder  bad,  ye  see.  Nice,  clever  little  gal  as  ever 
lived,  too.  Stop  in  an'  git  yer  clo'es  when  ye  come 
back,  will  ye?  " 

"All  right,"  muttered  Pete,  as  he  trotted  away 
toward  the  town. 

♦  »  * 

I  wonder  what  Pete  was  thinking  about  as  he 
ran  through  the  forest.  An  "Injun's"  thoughts 
on  any  ordinary  subject  cannot  be  very  deep, 
yet  when  one  comes  from  such  a  scene  as  Pete 
had  just  witnessed,  and  when  such  sad  ej^es  as 
Marie's  haunt  one  all  along  a  lonely  road,  even  a>* 


Indian  Pete's  Christmas  Gift.  250 

*' Injun's"  thoughts  must  he  worth  noticing.  Let  us 
imagine  what  Pete's  thoughts  were  as  he  shufifled 
mile  after  mile  through  the  snow.  The  scene  he 
had  just  left  rose  before  his  dulled  "  Injun  "  mind. 
How  kind  Mrs.  Hunt  had  always  been  to  him  ! 
She  was  the  only  one  that  called  him  "Mister." 
How  queer  it  was  that  the  children  should  cry  be- 
cause the  flowers  were  killed  !  How  little  Marie 
had  looked  at  him  !  Somehow  Pete  could  not  drive 
those  sad  eyes  away.  They  seemed  to  be  looking 
at  him  from  every  stump,  from  every  tree.  They 
were  filled  with  tears  now— could  it  be  because  the 
flowers  were  frozen  ? 

It  is  no  wonder  that  when  at  last  the  few  linger- 
ing village  lights  came  into  view,  Pete  was  won- 
dering how  he  could  help  matters  out. 

It  was  quite  late,  and  most  of  the  shops  were 
closed.  Only  here  and  there  some  late  worker 
showed  a  light.  The  bar-rooms  were  open  full 
blast,  and  as  Pete  glided  down  the  sawdust  street 
it  needed  all  the  remembrance  of  Bill's  fist  to  keep 
him  from  parting  with  a  portion  of  the  jingling 
money  for  an  equal  amount  of  good  cheer.  But 
the  fist  had  the  best  of  it,  and  he  went  straight  on 
to  the  last  bar-room.  Surely  Bill  was  right.  Noth- 
ing but  a  miracle  could  stop  him. 

But  the  miracle  was  performed,  and  when  Pete 
least  expected  it. 

Pete  knew  better  than  to  go  into  the  front  door 
of  the  bar-room.  He  knew  how  well  he  and  all  his 
race  are  protected  by  the  government.  It  had 
been  decided  that  no  one  should  be  allowed  to  sell 
liquor  to  an  "  Injun  " — at  least  at  the  regular  bar. 
If  an  "  Injun,"  however,  could  so  far  lose  sight  of 
his  personal  dignity  as  to  come  sneaking  in  at  the 
back  door,  and  pay  an  extra  price  for  his  liquor, 
whose  business  was  it  ? 

Pete  knew  the  way  of  bar-tenders.  He  had 
been  in  the  business  before.     He  did  not  go  in  at 


260  ChrUimas  Tales. 

the  front  door  where  the  higher-bred  white  men 
were  made  welcome,  but  slunk  down  an  alley  by  the 
side  of  the  building,  meaning  to  go  in  the  back  way. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  store  next  the  bar- 
room. It  was  a  milliner's  store  and  had  been 
closed  for  some  hours.  But  in  the  back  room  two 
women  were  working  away  anxious  to  finish  a  hat, 
evidently  intended  for  some  village  belle's  Christ- 
mas. Pete  stopped  in  the  dark  alley  for  a  moment 
to  watch  them. 

A  man  sat  asleep  in  a  chair  by  the  stove,  but  the 
women  worked  on  with  tireless  fingers.  The  hat 
was  growing  more  and  more  brilliant  under  their 
quick  touches.  By  their  side  stood  a  basket  of 
artificial  flowers  and  bright  ribbons.  It  seemed  to 
Pete  that  he  had  never  before  seen  anything  so 
beautiful.  Here  were  flowers — why  could  he  not 
get  some  for  the  little  sick  girl  ? 

It  was  a  severe  struggle  for  the  poor  "Injun," 
out  there  in  the  dark  alley.  The  thought  of  the 
thrashing  he  would  receive  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  sad  eyes  of  Marie  on  the  other.  What  could 
he  do?  But  even  an  "Injun"  can  remember  a 
kindness.  It  may  have  been  a  miracle,  or  it  may 
have  been  just  the  out-cropping  of  the  desire  to 
repay  a  kindness  which  even  an  "  Injun  "  is  said 
to  possess.  At  any  rate  the  eyes  conquered  atid 
Pete  braved  the  fist  of  Bill.  For  fear  that  he 
should  lose  courage,  he  pushed  against  the  door  of 
the  room,  and  entered  without  ceremony. 

There  was  a  great  commotion,  I  can  assure  you. 
The  idea  of  an  "  Injun  "  pushing  his  way  into  the 
back  parlor  of  a  milliner's  shop  was  too  much  of  a 
revolutionary  proceeding  to  pass  unnoticed.  The 
women  dropped  their  work  with  a  little  scream, 
while  the  man  started  from  his  chair  with  most 
violent  intent  upon  poor  Pete. 

"  What  be  ye  after  here,  Injun  ?  "  he  growled. 
**  Hump  yerself  outer  here — git  a-goin'  !  " 


Indian  Pete^i  Chi-utnuts  Gift.  261 

But  Pete  pulled  out  his  money,  at  the  sight  of 
which  the  standing  army  of  the  milliner's  store 
paused.  Money  has  smoothed  over  many  an  out- 
rage. It  might  perhaps  excuse  even  such  an  action 
on  the  part  of  an  "  Injun." 

'"I  want  flowers,"  Pete  said,  pointing  to  the  bas- 
ket.    "  Give  me  flowers — I  pay." 

"  Oh,  ye  wanter  buy  sum  of  them  artyficial  flow- 
ers, do  ye  ?  This  is  a  pooty  time  o'  night  ter  come 
flower  huntin,'  ain't  it  ?  Jest  pick  out  3'er  flowers, 
an'  then  climb  out  !  " — and  he  held  the  basket  out 
at  arm's  length  for  Pete  to  select. 

Pete  took  a  great  red  rose,  and  a  white  flower. 
There  was  not  very  much  of  a  stock  to  select  from, 
but  Pete,  with  "Injun"  instinct,  selected  the 
largest  and  gaudiest. 

"Them  is  wunh  about  ten  shillins,"  figured  up 
the  merchant,  taking  the  money  from  Pete's 
hand. 

Pete  "carefully  placed  the  flowers  in  the  pocket  of 
his  ragged  coat,  and  started  for  the  door.  The 
milliner's  man,  rendered  affable  by  the  most  sur- 
prising bargain  he  had  just  made,  naturally  wished 
to  retain  the  patronage  of  such  a  model  customer. 

"Want  anything  in  our  line.  Injun,  jest  call 
round  an'  we'll  please  ye.  Only  come  a  little  afore 
bed-time  when  ye  come  again."  But  Pete  slunk 
out  at  the  door  and  did  not  hear  him. 

Pete's  money  was  nearly  gone,  but  he  had  a 
scheme  in  his  head.  He  slunk  in  at  the  back  door 
of  the  bar-room,  and  obtained  his  jug,  and  what 
whiskey  he  could  buy  with  the  rest  of  his  money. 
Then  up  the  street  he  ran  again,  out  of  town,  stop- 
ping only  once  at  the  pump  to  fill  the  jug  to  the 
top  with  water.  Resolutely  fastening  in  the  stop- 
per, and  not  even  raising  the  jug  to  his  mouth,  he 
started  I'or  camp  at  his  long,  swinging  trot,  with 
the  jug  in  his  hand.  Mile  after  mile  was  passed 
over,  jet  Pete  did  not  stop  till  Jeff  Hunt's  caoia 


262  Christmas  Tales. 

came  in  sight.  Hiding  his  jug  behind  a  log,  he 
crept  up  to  the  window  and  looked  in. 

The  light  was  burning  on  the  table,  while  ]\Irs. 
Hunt  sat  nodding  over  her  work.  She  had  been 
mending  the  clothes  so  that  Pete  could  take  them 
back  with  him.  Tired  out,  she  had  fallen  asleep. 
The  box  of  frozen  plants  still  stood  by  the  table. 
Pete  grinned  as  he  saw  them,  thinking  of  the  great 
flowers  in  his  pocket.  Marie  was  asleep.  Over 
her  heal  were  hung  long  clusters  of  moss,  with 
masses  of  ground  pine  and  red  berries. 

Pete  stole  to  the  door  and  went  in.     Mrs.   Hunt 

woke  with  a  start,  but  at  sight  of  Pete  smiled  in 

her   weary    way.      Pete   made   up    his  bundle  of 

clothes,  and  then  pulled  out  the  great  red  rose  and 

the  white  flower.     He  laid  them  on  the  table  with 

— "  Flowers  fer  little  gal.     Sick.     Make  her  think 

Crissmus.     Good    flowers.     All    color.     No    fade. 

No  smell.     No  wear  out."     Then,  catching  up  his 

bundle,   he  slunk  away  without  waiting  for  Mrs. 

Hunt's  thanks. 

*  *  ■}«■ 

When  Bill  Gammon  woke  in  the  morning,  he 
found  the  jug  at  the  foot  of  his  bunk.  But  Pete 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  had  left  the  jug  and 
fled. 

The  Christmas  celebration  at  Carter's  was  a  very 
tame  affair.  Many  were  the  curses  showered  upon 
Pete,  and  had  that  worthy  been  present,  I  doubt  if 
even  the  thought  of  the  famous  miracle  would 
have  sustained  him  in  the  beating  he  would  have 
received.  But  if  Pete's  conduct  produced  such  a 
sad  effect  upon  the  festivities  at  Carter's,  the  joy  it 
caused  at  Jeff  Hunt's  cabin  made  matters  even. 
The  glad  Christmas  sun,  glad  with  the  promise  of 
the  "  old,  old  story."  came  dancing  and  sparkling 
over  the  trees,  and  looked  down  in  wonderful 
tenderness  upon  the  humble  cabin.  The  first  bright 
beams  fell  upon  the  bed  where  little  Marie  was 


Indian  Peters  Christmas  Gift.  263 

lying.  They  showed  her  the  rose  and  the  white 
flower  nestling  in  the  evergreens.  The  children 
came  and  stood  in  wonder  before  the  rude  flowers. 
How  wonderful  they  were  !  Where  could  they 
have  come  from  ? 

The  face  of  the  little  girl  was  more  patient  than 
before.  The  eyes  seemed  more  tender,  and  yet  not 
so  sad.  Perhaps  the  glad  sun,  the  same  good  sun 
that  had  looked  upon  that  far-away  tomb  from 
which  the  stone  had  rolled,  whispered  to  her,  as  it 
pla\  ed  about  her  face,  how  soon  the  stone  would 
roll  from  her  life  ;  how  soon  she  would  forget  all 
her  care  and  trouble,  and  enter  the  land  of  sun- 
shine and  flowers.  It  may  be  that  the  good  old 
Christmas  sun  even  hunted  out  poor  despised  Pete, 
and  told  him  something  of  its  happiness.  I  am 
sure  he  deserved  it.     Let  us  hope  so  at  any  rate. 


2G4  Chridiiuu<  Tales. 


MY  CHRISTMAS  DINNER. 


It  was  on  the  twentieth  of  December  last  that  I 
received  an  invitation  from  ray  friend,  Mr.  Phig- 
gins,  to  dine  with  him  in  Mark  Lane,  on  Christmas 
Day.  I  had  several  reasons  for  declining  this 
proposition.  The  first  was  that  Mr.  P.  makes 
it  a  rule,  at  all  these  festivals,  to  empty  the  entire 
concents  of  his  counting-house  into  his  little  dining 
parlor  ;  and  you  consequently  sit  down  to  dinner 
with  six  white-waistcoated  clerks,  let  loose  upon  a 
turkey.  The  second  was  that  I  am  not  sufficiently 
well  read  in  cotton  and  sugar,  to  enter  with  any 
spirit  into  the  subject  of  conversation.  And  the 
third  was,  and  is,  that  I  never  drink  Cape  wine. 
But  by  far  the  most  prevailing  reason  remains  to  be 
told.  I  had  been  anticipating  for  some  days,  and 
was  hourly  in  the  hope  of  receiving,  an  invitation 
to  spend  my  Christmas  Day  in  a  most  irresistible 
quarter.  I  was  expecting,  iudeed,  the  felicit}' of 
eating  plum-pudding  with  an  angel  ;  and,  on  the 
strength  of  my  imaginary  engagement,  I  returned 
a  polite  note  to  Mr.  P.,  reducing  him  to  the  neces- 
sity of  advertising  for  another  candidate  for  Cape 
and  turkey. 

The  twenty-first  came.  Another  invitation — to 
dine  with  a  regiment  of  roast-beef  eaters,  at  Clap- 
ham.  I  declined  this  also,  for  the  above  reason, 
and  for  one  other,  viz.,  that,  on  dining  there  ten 
Christmas  Days  ago,  it  was  discovered,  on  sitting 
down,  that  one  little  accompaniment  of  the  roast 
beef  had  been  entirely  overlooked.  Would  it  be 
believed  !— but  I  will  not  stay  to  mystify — I  merely 
mention  the  fact.  They  had  forgotten  the  horse- 
radish. 


3fy  Christmas  Dinner.  265 

The  next  day  arrived,  and  with  it  a  neat  epistle, 
sealed  with  violet-colored  wax,  from  Upper  Brook 
street.  "  Dine  with  the  ladies — at  home  on  Christ- 
mas Day."  Very  tempting,  it  is  true  ;  but  not  ex- 
actly the  letter  I  was  longing  for.  I  began,  how- 
ever, to  debate  within  myself  upon  the  policy  of 
securing  this  bird  in  hand,  instead  of  waiting  for' 
the  two  that  were  .still  hopping  about  the  bush,, 
wheu  the  consultation  was  suddenly  brought  to  a- 
close,  by  a  prophetic  view  ol  the  portfolio  of  draw- 
ings fresh  from  boarding-school — moths  and! 
roses  on  embossed  paper ; — to  say  nothing  of  the 
album,  in  which  I  stood  engaged  to  write  an  elegy- 
on  a  Java  sparrow,  that  had  been  the  favorite  in  the 
family  for  three  days.  I  rung  for  gilt-edged, 
pleaded  a  world  of  polite  regret,  and  again  de- 
clined. 

The  twenty-third  dawned;  time  was  getting  on 
rather  rapidly  ;  but  no  card  came.  I  began  to  de- 
spair of  any  more  invitations,  and  to  repent  of  my 
refusals.  Breakfast  was  hardly  over,  however, 
when  the  servant  brought  up — not  a  letter — but  aa 
aunt  and  a  brace  of  cousins  from  Bayswater.  They 
»would  listen  to  no  excuse  ;  consanguinity  required- 
me,  and  Christmas  was  not  my  own.  Now  irav- 
coijsins  kept  no  albums  ;  they  are  really  as  pretty 
as  cousins  can  be  ;  and  when  violent  hands,  witb 
white  kid  gloves,  are  laid  on  one,  it  is  sometimes 
difficult  to  effect  an  escape  with  becoming  elegance. 
I  could  not,  however,  give  up  my  darling  hope  of  a 
pleasanter  prospect.  They  fought  with  me  in  fift>- 
engagements — that  I  pretended  to  have  made.  1 
showed  them  the  Court  Guide,  with  ten  names-- 
obliterated — being  those  of  persons  who  had  fiot 
asked  me  to  mince-meat  and  mistletoe  ;  and  I  Ulti- 
mately gained  my  cause  by  quartering  the  remains 
of  an  infectious  fever  on  the  sensitive  fears  of  my 
aunt,  and  by  dividing  a  rheumatism  and  a  sprained 
ankle  between  my  sympathetic  cousins. 


,266  Christmas  Tales. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  I  walked  out,  saun- 
tering involuntarily  in  the  direction  of  the  only 
house  in  which  I  felt  I  could  spend  a  "happy" 
Christmas.  As  I  approached,  a  porter  brought  a 
large  hamper  to  the  door.  "A  present  from  the 
country,"  thought  I,  "  yes,  they  do  dine  at  home  ; 
they  must  ask  me  ;  they  know  that  I  am  in  town." 
Immediately  afterward  a  servant  issued  with  a 
letter  ;  he  took  the  nearest  way  to  my  lodgings, 
and  I  hurried  back  by  another  street  to  receive  the 
so-much-wished-for  invitation.  I  was  in  a  state  of 
delirious  delight. 

I  arrived — ^but  there  was  no  letter.  I  sat  down 
to  wait,  in  a  spirit  of  calmer  enjoyment  than  I  had 
experienced  for  some  days  ;  and  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  a  note  was  brought  to  me.  At  length,  the 
desired  despatch  had  come ;  it  seemed  written  on 
the  leaf  of  a  lily  with  a  pen  dipped  in  dew.  I 
■opened  it— and  had  nearly  fainted  with  disappoint- 
ment. It  was  from  a  stock- broker,  who  begins  an 
anecdote  of  Mr.  Rothschild  before  dinner,  and 
finishes  it  with  the  fourth  bottle — and  who  makes 
liis  eight  children  stay  up  to  supper  and  snap-dra- 
gon. In  macadamizing  a  stray  stone  in  one  of  his 
periodical  puddings,  I  once  lost  a  tooth,  and  with 
it  an  heiress  of  some  reputation.  I  wrote  a  most 
irritable  apology,  and  despatched  my  warmest  re- 
gards in  a  whirlwind. 

December  the  twenty-fourth — I  began  to  count 
the  hours,  and  uttered  many  poetical  things  about 
the  wings  of  Time.  Alack  !  no  letter  came  ; — yes, 
I  received  a  note  from  a  distinguished  dramatist, 
requesting  the  honor,  etc.  But  I  was  too  cunning 
for  this,  and  practiced  wisdom  for  once.  I  happened 
to  reflect  that  his  pantomime  was  to  make  its  ap- 
pearance on  the  night  after,  and  that  his  object  was 
to  perpetrate  the  whole  programme  upon  me.  Re- 
gret that  I  could  not  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
Mr.  Paulo,  and  the  rest  of  the  literati  to  be  then 


My  Christmas  Dinner.  267 

and  there  assembled,  was  of  course  immediately 
expressed. 

My  mind  became  restless  and  agitated.  I  felt, 
amidst  all  these  invitations,  cruelly  neglected.  They 
served,  indeed,  but  to  increase  my  uneasiness,  as 
they  opened  prospects  of  happiness  in  which  I 
could  take  no  share.  They  discovered  a  most 
tempting  dessert,  composed  of  forbidden  fruit.  I 
took  down  "  Childe  Harold,"  and  read  myself  into 
a  sublime  contempt  of  mankind.  I  began  to  per- 
ceive that  merriment  is  only  malice  in  disguise, 
and  that  the  chief  cardinal  virtue  is  misanthropy. 

I  sat  "nursing  my  wrath,"  till  it  scorched  me; 
when  the  arrival  '  of  another  epistle  suddenly 
charmed  me  from  this  state  of  delicious  melancholy 
and  delightful  endurance  of  wrong.  I  sickened  as 
I  surveyed,  and  trembled  as  I  opened  it.  It  was 
dated  — — ,  but  no  matter  ;  it  was  not  the  letter.  In 
such  a  frenzy  as  mine,  raging  to  behold  the  object 
of  my  admiration  condescend,  not  to  eat  a  custard, 
but  to  render  it  invisible — to  be  invited  perhaps  to 
^  tart  fabricated  by  her  own  ethereal  fingers  ;  with 
such  possibilities  before  me,  how  could  I  think  of 
joining  a  "friendly  party," — where  I  should  inevi- 
tably sit  next  to  a  'deaf  lady,  who  had  been,  when 
a  little  girl,  patted  on  the  head  by  Wilkes,  or  my 
Lord  North,  she  could  not  recollect  which — had 
taken  tea  with  the  author  of  "Junius,"  but  had 
forgotten  his  name — and  who  once  asked  me 
"  whether  Mr.  Mun den's  monument  was  in  West- 
minster Abbey  or  St.  Paul's  ?" — I  seized  a  pen,  and 
presented  my  compliments.  I  hesitated — for  the 
peril  of  precariousness  of  my  situation  flashed  on 
my  mind  ;  but  hope  had  still  left  me  a  straw  to 
catch  at,  and  I  at  length  succeeded  in  resisting  this 
late  and  terrible  temptation. 

After  the  first  burst  of  excitement,  I  sunk  into 
still  deeper  despondency.  My  spirit  became  a  prey 
to  anxiety  and  remorse.     I  could  not  eat  ;  dinner 


268  Christmas  Tales. 

"was  removed  with  unlifted  covers.  I  went  out. 
The  world  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  new  face  ; 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  raisins  and  rounds  of 
beef.  I  wandered  about  like  Lear — I  had  given  up 
all  !  I  felt  myself  grated  against  the  world  like  a 
nutmeg.  It  grew  dark — I  sustained  a  still  gloom- 
ier shock.  Every  chance  seemed  to  have  expired, 
and  ever)-body  seemed  to  have  a  delightful  engage- 
ment for  the  next  day.  I  alone  was  disengaged — 
I  felt  like  the  Last  Man  !  To-morrow  appeared  to 
have  already  commenced  its  career  ;  mankind  had 
anticipated  the  future;  "and  coming  mince  pies 
cast  their  shadows  before." 

In  this  state  of  desolation  and  dismay,  I  called — 
I  could  not  help  it — at  the  house  to  which  I  had 
so  fondly  anticipated  an  invitation,  and  a  welcome. 
My  protest  must  here  however  be  recorded,  that 
though  I  called  in  the  hope  of  being  asked,  it  was 
my  fixed  determination  not  to  avail  myself  of  so 
protracted  a  piece  of  politeness.  No  :  my  triumph 
would  have  been  to  have  annihilated  them  with  an 
engagement  made  in  September,  payable  three 
months  after  date.  With  these  feelings,  I  gave  an 
agitated  knock — they  were  stoning  the  plums,  and 
did  not  immediately  attend.  I  rung — how  unlike 
a  dinner  bell  it  sounded  !  A  girl  at  length  made 
her  appearance,  and,  with  a  mouthful  of  citron,  in- 
formed me  that  the  family  had  gone  to  spend  their 
Christmas  Eve  in  Portland  Place.  I  rushed  down 
the  steps,  I  hardly  knew  whither.  My  first  impulse 
was  to  go  to  some  wharf  and  inquire  what  vessels 
were  starting  for  America.  But  it  was  a  cold  night 
— I  went  home  and  threw  myself  on  my  miserable 
couch.     In  other  words,  I  went  to  bed. 

I  dozed  and  dreamed  away  the  hours  till  day- 
break. Sometimes  I  fancied  m3'self  seated  in  a 
roaring  circle,  roasting  chestnuts  at  a  blazing  log  : 
at  others,  that  I  had  fallen  into  the  Serpentine 
while  skating,  and  that  the  Humane  Society  were 


My  Christinas  Dinner.  269 

piling  upon  me  a  Pelion,  or  rather  a  Vesuvius  of 
blankets.  I  awoke  a  little  refreshed.  Alas  !  it  was 
the  twenty-fifth  of  the  month — It  was  Christmas 
Day  !  Let  the  reader,  if  he  possess  the  imagination 
of  Milton,  conceive  my  sensations. 

I  swallowed  an  atom  of  dry  toast — nothing  could 
calm  the  fever  of  my  soul.  I  stirred  the  fire  and 
read  Zimmermann  alternately.  Even  reason — the 
last  remedy  one  has  recourse  to  in  such  cases — 
came  at  length  to  my  relief:  I  argued  myself  into 
a  philosophic  fit.  But,  unluckily,  just  as  the  Le- 
thean tide  within  me  was  at  its  height,  my  landlady 
broke  in  upon  my  lethargy,  and  chased  away  by  a 
single  word  all  the  little  sprites  and  pleasures  that 
were  acting  as  my  physicians,  and  prescribing  balm 
for  my  wounds.  She  paid  me  the  usual  compliment, 
and  then — ''  Do  you  dine  at  home  to-day,  sir  ?"  ab- 
ruptly inquired  she.  Here  was  a  question.  No 
Spanish  inquisitor  ever  inflicted  such  complete  dis- 
may in  so  short  a  sentence.  Had  she  given  me  a 
Sphynx  to  expound,  a  Gordian  tangle  to  untwist ; 
had  she  set  me  a  lesson  in  algebra,  or  asked  me  the 
way  to  Brobdingnag;  had  she  desired  me  to  show 
her  the  North  Pole,  or  the  meaning  of  a  melodrama  : 
— any  or  all  of  these  I  might  have  accomplished. 
But  to  request  me  to  define  my  dinner — to  inquire 
into  its  latitude — to  compel  me  to  fathom  that  sea 
of  appetite  which  I  now  felt  rushing  through  my 
frame — to  ask  me  to  dive  into  futurity,  and  become 
the  prophet  of  pies  and  preserves  ! — My  heart  died 
wnthin  me  at  the  impossibility  of  a  reply. 

She  had  repeated  the  question  before  I  could  col- 
lect my  senses  around  me.  Then,  for  the  first  time 
it  occurred  to  me  that,  in  the  event  of  my  having 
no  engagement  abroad,  my  landlady  meant  to  invite 
me  !  "  There  will  at  least  be  the  two  daughters," 
I  whispered  to  myself;  "  and  after  all,  Lucy  Mat- 
thews is  a  charming  girl,  and  touches  the  harp 
divinely.     She    has    a  very  small,   pretty  hand,  I 


270  Christmas  Tales. 

recollect ;  only  her  fingers  are  so  punctured  by  the 
needle — and  I  rather  think  she  bites  her  nails.'  No, 
I  will  not  even  now  give  up  my  hope.  It  was  yes- 
terday but  a  straw — to-day  it  is  but  the  thistle- 
down ;  but  I  will  cling  to  it  to  the  last  moment. 
There  are  still  four  hours  left;  they  will  not  dine 
till  six.  One  desperate  struggle,  and  the  peril  is 
past  ;  let  me  not  be  seduced  by  this  last  golden  ap- 
ple, and  I  may  yet  win  my  race."  The  struggle 
-was  made — *'!  should  not  dine  at  home."  This 
was  the  only  phrase  left  me,  for  I  could  not  say 
that  "  I  should  dine  out,"  Alas!  that  an  event 
should  be  at  the  same  time  so  doubtful  and  so  de- 
sirable. I  only  begged  that  if  any  letter  arrived, 
it  might  be  brought  to  me  immediately. 

The  last  plank,  the  last  splinter,  had  now  given 
way  beneath  me.  I  was  floating  about  with  no 
hope  but  the  chance  of  something  almost  impos- 
sible. They  had  "left  me  alone,"  not  with  my 
glory,  but  with  an  appetite  that  resembled  an  ava- 
lanche seeking  w^hom  it  might  devour.  I  had 
passed  one  dinnerless  day,  and  half  of  another ; 
yet  the  promised  land  was  as  far  from  sight  as  ever. 
I  recounted  the  chances  I  had  missed.  The  dinners 
I  might  have  enjoyed,  passed  in  a  dioramic  view 
l)efore  my  eyes.  Mr.  Phiggins  and  his  six  clerks 
— the  Clapham  beef-eaters — the  charms  of  Upper 
Brook  street — my  pretty  cousins,  and  the  panto- 
mime writer — the  stockbroker,  whose  stories  one 
forgets,  and  the  elderly  lady  who  forgets  her 
stories — they  all  marched  by  me,  a  procession  of 
apparitions.  Even  my  landlady's  invitation,  though 
unborn,  was  not  forgotten  in  summing  up  my 
sacrifices.     And  for  what  ? 

Four  o'clock.  Hope  w^as  perfectly  ridiculous.  I 
had  been  walking  upon  the  hair-bridge  over  a  gulf, 
and  could  not  get  into  Elysium  after  all.  I  had 
been  catching  moonbeams,  and  running  after  notes 
of  music.    Despair  was  my  only  convenient  refuge  ; 


My  Christinas  Dinner.  271 

no  chance  remained,  unless  something  should  drop 
from  the  clouds.  In  this  last  particular  I  was  not 
disappointed ;  for,  on  looking  up,  I  perceived  a 
heavy  shower  of  snow,  yet  I  was  obliged  to  venture 
forth  ;  for  being  supposed  to  dine  out,  I  could  not 
of  course  remain  at  home.  Where  to  go  I  knew 
not :  I  was  like  my  first  father — "  the  world  was  all 
before  me."  I  flung  my  coat  round  me,  and  hur- 
ried forth  with  the  feelings  of  a  bandit  longing  foi 
a  stiletto.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  I  staggered 
against  two  or  three  smiling  rascals,  priding  them- 
selves upon  their  punctuality.  They  had  just 
arrived — to  make  the  tour  of  Turkey.  How  I  hated 
them  I — As  I  rushed  by  the  parlor,  a  single  glance- 
disclosed  to  me  a  blazing  fire,  with  Lucy  and  several 
lovely  creatures  in  a  semi-circle.  Fancy,  too,  gave 
me  a  glimpse  of  a  sprig  of  mistletoe — I  vanished 
from  the  house,  like  a  spectre  at  day-break. 

How  long  I  wandered  about  is  doubtful.  At 
last  I  happened  to  look  through  a  kitchen  window, 
with  an  area  in  front,  and  saw  a  villain  with  a  fork 
in  his  hand,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair 
choked  with  ecstasy.  Another  was  feasting  with  a 
graver  air  ;  he  seemed  to  be  swallowing  a  bit  of 
Paradise,  and  criticising  its  flavor.  This  was  too 
much  for  mortaUty — my  appetite  fastened  upon  me 
like  an  alligator.  I  darted  from  the  spot  ;  and  only 
a  few  yards  further  discerned  a  house  with  rather 
an  elegant  exterior,  and  with  some  ham  in  the 
window  that  looked  perfectly  sublime.  There  was 
no  time  for  consideration — to  hesitate  was  to  perish . 
I  entered  ;  it  was  indeed  "a  banquet-hall  deserted." 
The  very  waiters  had  gone  home  to  their  friends. 
There,  however,  I  found  a  fire  ;  and  there — to  sum 
up  all  my  folly  and  felicity  in  a  single  word — I 

OINED. 


Christmas  Tales. 


THE  POOR  TRAVELER. 

BY  CHARIvES   DICKENS. 

[Dickens'  introduction  to  this  story  describes  his  going 
fto  Rochester  on  Christmas  Eve  and  seeing  there  a  quaint 
old  charity,  which  provided  for  the  entertainment  of 
"'  six  poor  travelers  who  not  being  rogues  or  proctors 
imight  receive  gratis  for  one  night  lodging,  entertainment 
and  fourpence  each."  In  honor  of  the  day  a  special  meal  is 
provided  for  the  travelers  then  in  the  charity.  After  the 
meal,  when  the  travelers  have  gathered  around  the  fire, 
their  entertainer  gives  them  the  reason  for  the  unwonted 
^east  as  "  Christmas  Eve,  my  friends,  when  the  Shepherds, 
who  were  poor  travelers,  too,  in  their  way,  heard  the 
Angels  sing,  '  On  earth,  peace  :  Good  will  toward  men.'  " 
Then  each  traveler  was  invited  to  relate  a  story,  and 
among  those  told  was  the  following.] 

In  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
ninety-nine,  a  relative  of  mine  came  limping  down, 
on  foot,  to  the  town  of  Chatham.  He  was  a  poor 
traveler,  with  not  a  farthing  in  his  pocket. 

My  relative  came  down  to  Chatham  to  enlist  in  a 
cavalry  regiment,  if  a  cavalry  regiment  would  have 
him  ;  if  not,  to  take  King  George's  shilling  from 
any  corporal  or  sergeant  who  would  put  a  bunch 
of  ribbons  in  his  hat.  His  object  was  to  get  shot ; 
but  he  thought  he  might  as  well  ride  to  death  as  be 
at  the  trouble  of  walking. 

My  relative's  Christian  name  was  Richard,  but 
he  was  better  known  as  Dick.  He  dropped  his 
own  surname  on  the  road  down,  and  took  up  that 
of  Doubledick.  He  was  passed  as  Richard  Double- 
dick  ;  age,  twenty-two ;  height,  five  foot  ten ; 
native  place,  Exmouth,  which  he  had  never  been 


The  Poor  Tt^aveler.  273 

near  in  his  life.  There  was  no  cavalry  in  Chatham 
when  he  limped  over  the  bridge  with  half  a  shoe 
to  his  dusty  feet,  so  he  enlisted  into  a  regiment  of 
the  line,  and  was  glad  to  get  drunk  and  forget  all 
about  it. 

You  are  to  know  that  this  relative  of  mine  had 
gone  wrong,  and  run  wild.  His  heart  was  in  the 
right  place,  but  it  was  sealed  up.  He  had  been 
betrothed  to  a  good  and  beautiful  girl,  whom  he 
had  loved  better  than  she — or  perhaps  even  he — 
believed  ;  but  in  an  evil  hour  he  had  given  her 
cause  to  say  to  him  solemnly,  "Richard,  I  will 
never  marry  any  other  man.  I  will  live  single  for 
your  sake,  but  Mary  Marshall's  lips" — her  name 
was  Mary  Marshall — "never  address  another 
word  to  you  on  earth.  Go,  Richard  !  Heaven  for- 
give you  !  "  This  finished  him.  This  brought  him 
down  to  Chatham.  This  made  him  Private  Rich- 
ard Doubledick,  with  a  determination  to  be  shot. 

There  was  not  a  more  dissipated  and  reckless 
soldier  in  Chatham  barracks,  in  the  year  one  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  and  ninet^'-nine,  than  Private 
Richard  Doubledick.  He  associated  with  the  dregs 
of  every  regiment ;  he  was  as  seldom  sober  as  he 
could  be,  and  was  constantly  under  punishment. 
It  became  clear  to  the  whole  barracks  that  Private 
Richard  Doubledick  would  very  soon  be  flogged. 

Now  the  Captain  of  Richard  Doubledick's  com- 
pany was  a  young  gentleman  not  above  five  years 
his  senior,  whose  eyes  had  an  expression  in  them 
which  affected  Private  Richard  Doubledick  in  a 
very  remarkable  way.  They  were  bright,  hand- 
some, dark  eyes, — what  are  called  lauijhing  eyes 
generally,  and,  when  serious,  rather  steady  than 
severe, — but  they  were  the  only  eyes  now  left  in 
his  narrowed  world  that  Private  Richard  Double- 
dick could  not  stand.  Unabashed  by  evil  report 
and  punishment,  defiant  of  everything  else  and 
everybody  else,  he  had  but  to  know  that  those  eyes 


274  Christmas  Tales. 

looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  he  felt  ashamed. 
He  could  not  so  much  as  salute  Captain  Taunton 
in  the  street  like  any  other  officer.  He  was  re- 
proached and  confused, — troubled  by  the  mere 
possibility  of  the  Captain's  looking  at  him.  In  his 
worst  moments,  he  would  rather  turn  back,  and  go 
any  distance  out  of  his  way,  than  encounter  those 
two  handsome,  dark,  bright  eyes. 

One  day,  when  Private  Richard  Doubledick 
came  out  of  the  Black  hole,  where  he  had  been 
passing  the  last  eight  and  forty  hours,  and  in  which 
retreat  he  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time,  he  was 
ordered  to  betake  himself  to  Captain  Taunton's 
quarters.  In  the  stale  and  squalid  state  of  a  man 
just  out  of  the  Black  hole,  he  had  less  fancy  than 
ever  for  being  seen  by  the  Captain  ;  but  he  was  not 
so  mad  yet  as  to  disobey  orders,  and  consequently 
went  up  to  the  terrace  overlooking  the  parade- 
ground,  where  the  officers'  quarters  were  ;  twisting 
and  breaking  in  his  hands,  as  he  went  along,  a  bit 
of  the  straw  that  had  formed  the  decorative  furni- 
ture of  the  Black  hole. 

''Come  in!"  cried  the  Captain,  when  he 
knocked  with  his  knuckles  at  the  door.  Private 
Richard  Doubledick  pulled  off  his  cap,  took  a  stride 
forward,  and  felt  very  conscious  that  he  stood  in 
the  light  of  the  dark,  bright  eyes. 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  Private  Richard 
Doubledick  had  put  the  straw  in  his  mouth,  and 
was  gradually  doubling  it  up  into  his  windpipe  and 
choking  himself. 

"Doubledick,"  said  the  Captain,  "do  you  know 
where  you  are  going  to  ?  " 

"To  the  devil,  sir,"  faltered  Doubledick. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Captain.    "And  very  fast.'* 

Private  Richard  Doubledick  turned  the  straw  of 
the  Black  hole  in  his  mouth,  and  made  a  miserable 
salute  of  acquiescence. 

"Doubledick,"     said    the    Captain,     "since    I 


The  Poor  Traveler,  275 

entered  his  Majesty's  service,  a  boy  of  seventeen,  I 
have  been  pained  to  see  many  men  of  promise 
going  that  road  ;  but  I  have  never  been  so  pained 
to  see  a  man  determined  to  make  the  shameful 
journey  as  I  have  been,  ever  since  you  joined  the 
regiment,  to  see  you." 

Private  Richard  Doubledick  began  to  find  a  film 
stealing  over  the  floor  at  which  he  looked  ;  also  to 
find  the  legs  of  the  Captain's  breakfast-table  turn- 
ing crooked,  as  if  he  saw  them  through  water. 

"I  am  only  a  common  soldier,  sir,"  said  he. 
"It  signifies  very  little  what  such  a  poor  brute 
comes  to." 

"You  are  a  man,"  returned  the  Captain,  with 
grave  indignation,  "of  education  and  superior  ad- 
vantages ;  and  if  you  say  that,  meaning  what  you 
say,  you  have  sunk  lower  than  I  had  believed. 
How  low  that  must  be,  I  leave  you  to  consider, 
knowing  what  I  know  of  your  disgrace,  and  seeing 
what  I  see." 

"  I  hope  to  get  shot  soon,  sir,"  said  Private 
Richard  Doubledick  ;  "  and  then  the  regiment  and 
the  world  together  will  be  rid  of  me." 

The  legs  of  the  table  were  becoming  very  crooked. 
Doubledick.  looking  up  to  steady  his  vision,  met 
the  eyes  that  had  so  strong  an  influence  over  him. 
He  put  his  hand  before  his  own  eyes,  and  the  breast 
of  his  disgrace-jacket  swelled  as  if  it  would  fly 
asunder. 

"I  would  rather,"  said  the  young  Captain,  "see 
this  in  you,  Doubledick,  than  I  would  see  five 
thousand  guineas  counted  out  upon  this  table  for 
a  gift  to  my  good  mother.     Have  you  a  mother?  " 

"I  am  thankful  to  say  she  is  dead,  sir." 

"  If  your  praises,"  returned  the  Captain,  "  were 
sounded  from  mouth  to  mouth  through  the  whole 
regiment,  through  the  whole  army,  through  the 
whole  country,  you  would  wish  she  had  lived  to 
say,  with  pride  and  joy,  '  He  is  my  son  ! '  " 


276  Christmas  Tales. 

"  Spare  me,  sir,"  said  Doubledick.  "  She  would 
never  have  heard  any  good  of  me.  She  would 
never  have  had  any  pride  and  joy  in  owning  herself 
my  mother.  Love  and  compassion  she  might  have 
had,  and  would  have  always  had,  I  know  ;  but  not 
— Spare  me,  sir  !  I  am  a  broken  wretch,  quite  at 
your  mercy  !  "  And  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall, 
and  stretched  out  his  imploring  hand. 

"  My  friend — "  began  the  Captain, 

"God  bless  you,  sir!"  sobbed  Private  Richard 
Doubledick. 

I  have  heard  from  Private  Richard  Doubledick's 
own  lips,  that  he  dropped  down  upon  his  knee, 
kissed  that  officer's  hand,  arose,  and  went  out  of 
the  light  of  the  dark,  bright  eyes,  an  altered  man. 

In  that  year,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
ninety-nine,  the  French  were  in  Egypt,  in  Italy, 
in  Germany,  where  not  ?  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
had  likewise  begun  to  stir  against  England  in 
India,  and  most  men  could  read  the  signs  of  the 
great  troubles  that  were  coming  on.  In  the  very 
next  year,  when  we  formed  an  alliance  with  Austria 
against  him,  Captain  Taunton's  regiment  was  on 
service  in  India.  And  there  was  not  a  finer  non- 
commissioned officer  in  it, — no,  nor  in  the  whole 
line, — than  Corporal  Richard  Doubledick. 


In  eighteen  hundred  and  one,  the  Indian  army 
were  on  the  coast  of  Egypt.  Next  3-ear  was  the 
year  of  the  proclamation  of  the  short  peace,  and 
they  were  recalled.  It  had  then  become  well 
known  to  thousands  of  men,  that  wherever  Cap- 
tain Taunton,  with  the  dark,  bright  eyes,  led, 
there,  close  to  him,  ever  at  his  side,  firm  as  a  rock, 
true  as  the  sun,  and  brave  as  Mars,  would  be  cer- 
tain to  be  found,  while  life  beat  in  their  hearts, 
that  famous  soldier,  Sergeant  Richard  Double- 
dick. 


The  Poor  Traveler.  277 

Eighteen  hundred  and  five,  besides  being  the 
great  year  of  Trafalgar,  was  a  year  of  hard  fighting 
in  India.  That  year  saw  such  wonders  done  by  a 
Sergeant-Major,  who  cut  his  way  single-handed 
through  a  solid  mass  of  men,  recovered  the  colors 
of  his  regiment,  which  had  been  seized  from  the 
hand  of  a  poor  boy  shot  through  the  heart,  and 
rescued  his  wounded  Captain,  who  was  down,  and 
in  a  very  jungle  of  horses'  hoofs  and  sabres, — saw 
such  wonders  done,  I  say,  by  this  brave  Sergeant- 
Major,  that  he  was  specially  made  the  bearer  of 
the  colors  he  had  won  ;  and  E^isign  Richard 
Doubledick  had  risen  from  the  ranks. 

Sorely  cut  up  in  every  battle,  but  always  rein- 
forced by  the  bravest  of  men, — for  the  fame  of 
following  the  old  colors,  shot  through  and  through, 
which  Ensign  Richard  Doubledick  had  saved,  in- 
spired all  breasts, — this  regiment  fought  its  way 
through  the  Peninsular  war,  up  to  the  investment 
of  Badajos  in  eighteen  hundred  and  twelve. 
Again  and  again  it  had  been  cheered  through  the 
British  ranks  until  the  tears  had  sprung  into  men's 
eyes  at  the  mere  hearing  of  the  mighty  British 
voice,  so  exultant  in  their  valor  ;  and  there  was 
not  a  drummer  boy  but  knew  the  legend,  that 
wherever  the  two  friends,  Major  Taunton,  with 
the  dark,  bright  eyes,  and  Ensign  Richard  Double- 
dick, who  was  devoted  to  him,  were  seen  to  go, 
there  the  boldest  spirits  in  the  English  army 
became  wild  to  follow. 

One  day,  at  Badajos, — not  in  the  great  storming, 
but  in  repelling  a  hot  sally  of  the  besieged  upon 
our  men  at  work  in  the  trenches,  who  had  given 
way, — the  two  officers  found  themselves  hurrying 
forward,  face  to  face,  against  a  party  of  French 
infantry,  who  made  a  stand.  There  was  an  officer 
at  their  head,  encouraging  his  men, — a  courageous, 
handsome,  gallant  officer  of  five-and-thirty,  whom 
Doubledick  saw   hurriedly,   almost   momentarily, 


278  Christmas  Tales. 

but  saw  well.  He  particularly  noticed  this  officer 
waving  his  sword,  and  rallying  his  men  with  an 
eager  and  excited  cry,  when  they  fired  in  obedience 
to  his  gesture,  and  Major  Taunton  dropped. 

It  was  over  in  ten  minutes  more,  and  Double- 
dick  returned  to  the  spot  where  he  had  laid  the 
best  friend  man  ever  had,  on  a  coat  spread  upon  the 
wet  clay.  Major  Taunton's  uniform  was  opened  at 
the  breast,  and  on  his  shirt  were  three  little  spots 
of  blood. 

"  Dear  Doubledick,"  said  he,  "I  am  dying." 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  no  !  "  exclaimed  the 
other,  kneeling  down  beside  him,  and  passing  his 
arm  round  his  neck  to  raise  his  head.  "Taun- 
ton !  My  preserver,  my  guardian  angel,  my  wit- 
ness !  Dearest,  truest,  kindest  of  human  beings ! 
Taunton  !  For  God's  sake  !  " 

The  bright,  dark  eyes — so  very,  very  dark,  now, 
in  the  pale  face — smiled  upon  him  ;  and  the  hand 
he  had  kissed  thirteen  years  ago  laid  itself  fondly 
on  his  breast. 

"Write  to  my  mother.  You  will  see  home 
again.  Tell  her  how  we  became  friends.  It  will 
comfort  her,  as  it  comforts  me." 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  faintly  signed  for  a 
moment  toward  his  hair  as  it  fluttered  in  the  wind. 
The  Ensign  understood  him.  He  smiled  again 
when  he  saw  that,  and,  gently  turning  his  face 
over  on  the  supporting  arm  as  if  for  rest,  died, 
with  his  hand  upon  the  breast  in  which  he  had 
revived  a  soul. 

No  dry  eye  looked  on  Ensign  Richard  Double- 
dick that  melancholy  day.  He  buried  his  friend 
on  the  field,  and  became  a  lone,  bereaved  man. 
Beyond  his  duty  he  appeared  to  have  but  two  re- 
maining cares  in  life, — one,  to  preserve  the  little 
packet  of  hair  he  was  to  give  to  Taunton's  mother  ; 
the  other,  to  encounter  that  French  officer  who 
had  rallied  the  men  under  whose  fire  Taunton  fell. 


The  Poor  Traveler.  279 

A  new  legend  now  began  to  circulate  among  our 
troops  ;  and  it  was,  that  when  he  and  the  French 
officer  came  face  to  face  once  more,  there  would  be 
weeping  in  France. 

The  war  went  on — and  through  it  went  the 
exact  picture  of  the  French  officer  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  bodily  reality  upon  the  other — until  the 
battle  of  Toulouse  was  fought.  In  the  returns 
sent  home  appeared  these  words:  "Severely 
wounded,  but  not  dangerously.  Lieutenant  Rich- 
ard Doubledick." 

At  midsummer-time,  in  the  year  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  fourteen,  Lieutenant  Richard  Double- 
dick, now  a  browned  soldier,  seven-and-thirty 
years  of  age,  came  home  to  England  invalided. 
He  brought  the  hair  with  him,  near  his  heart. 
Many  a  P'rench  officer  had  he  seen  since  that  day ; 
many  a  dreadful  night,  in  searching  with  men  and 
lanterns  for  his  wounded,  had  he  relieved  French 
officers  lying  disabled  ;  but  the  mental  picture  and 
the  reality  had  never  come  together. 

Though  he  was  weak  and  suffered  pain,  he  lost 
not  an  hour  in  getting  down  to  Frome  in  Somer- 
setshire, where  Taunton's  mother  lived.  In  the 
sweet,  compassionate  words  that  naturally  present 
themselves  to  the  mind  to-night,  "he  was  the  only 
son  of  his  mother,  and  she  was  a  widow. ' ' 

It  was  a  Sunday  evening,  and  the  lady  sat  at  her 
quiet  garden-window,  reading  the  Bible  ;  reading 
to  herself,  in  a  trembling  voice,  that  very  passage 
in  it,  as  I  have  heard  him  tell.  He  heard  the 
words  :  "  Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee,  arise  !  " 

He  had  to  pass  the  window ;  and  the  bright, 
dark  eyes  of  his  debased  time  seemed  to  look  at 
him.  Her  heart  told  her  who  he  was  ;  she  came 
to  the  door  quickly,  and  fell  upon  his  neck. 

"He  saved  me  from  ruin,  made  me  a  human 
creature,  won  me  from  infamy  and  shame.  O 
God,  forever  bless  him  !     As  He  will.  He  will !  " 


280  Christmas  Tales. 

"  He  will !  "  the  lady  answered.  "I  know  he 
is  in  heaven  !"  Then  she  piteouslj''  cried,  "But 
O  my  darling  boy,  my  darling  boy  !  " 

Never  from  the  hour  when  Private  Richard 
Doubledick  enlisted  at  Chatham  had  the  Private, 
Corporal,  Sergeant,  Sergeant-Major,  Ensign,  or 
Lieutenant  breathed  his  right  name,  or  the  name 
of  Mary  Marshall,  or  a  word  of  the  story  of  his 
life,  into  any  ear  except  his  reclaimer's.  That 
previous  scene  in  his  existence  was  closed.  He 
had  firmly  resolved  that  his  expiation  should  be 
to  live  unknown  ;  to  disturb  no  more  the  peace 
that  had  long  grown  over  his  old  offences  ;  to 
let  it  be  revealed,  when  he  was  dead,  that  he  had 
striven  and  suffered,  and  had  never  forgotten  ;  and 
then,  if  they  could  forgive  him  and  believe  him — 
well,  it  would  be  time  enough — time  enough  ! 

But  that  night,  remembering  the  words  he  had 
cherished  for  two  years,  "  Tell  her  how  we  became 
friends.  It  will  comfort  her,  as  it  comforts  me," 
he  related  everything.  It  gradually  seemed  to 
him  as  if  in  his  maturity  he  had  recovered  a 
mother ;  it  gradually  seemed  to  her  as  if  in  her 
bereavement  she  had  found  a  son.  During  his 
stay  in  England,  the  quiet  garden  into  which  he 
had  slowly  and  painfully  crept,  a  stranger,  became 
the  boundary  of  his  home  ;  when  he  was  able  to 
rejoin  his  regiment  in  the  spring,  he  left  the  gar- 
den, thinking  was  this  indeed  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  turned  his  face  toward  the  old  colors  with 
a  woman's  blessing ! 

He  followed  them — so  ragged,  so  scarred  and 
pierced  now,  that  they  would  scarcely  hold  to- 
gether— to  Quatre  Bras  and  Ligny.  He  stood 
beside  them,  in  an  awful  stillness  of  many  men, 
shadowy  through  the  mist  and  drizzle  of  a  wet 
June  forenoon,  on  the  field  of  Waterloo.  And  down 
to  that  hour  the  picture  in  his  mind  of  the  French 
officer  had  never  been  compared  with  the  reality. 


The  Poor  Traveler.  281 

The  famous  regiment  was  in  action  early  in  the 
battle,  and  received  its  first  check  in  many  an 
eventful  year,  when  he  was  seen  to  fall.  But  it 
swept  on  to  avenge  him,  and  left  behind  it  no 
such  creature  in  the  world  of  consciousness  as 
Lieutenant  Richard  Doubledick. 

Through  pits  of  mire  and  pools  of  rain  ;  along 
deep  ditches,  once  roads,  that  were  pounded 
and  ploughed  to  pieces  by  artillery,  heavy  wag- 
ons, tramp  of  men  and  horses,  and  the  strug- 
gle of  every  wheeled  thing  that  could  carry 
wounded  soldiers;  jolted  among  the  dying  and 
the  dead,  so  disfigured  by  blood  and  mud  as  to  be 
hardly  recognizable  for  humanity  ;  dead,  as  to  any 
sentient  life  that  was  in  it,  and  yet  alive, — the 
form  that  had  been  Lieutenant  Richard  Double- 
dick, with  whose  praises  England  rang,  was  con- 
veyed to  Brussels.  There  it  was  tenderly  laid 
down  in  hospital ;  and  there  it  lay,  week  after 
week,  through  the  long,  bright  summer  days, 
until  the  harvest,  spared  by  war,  had  ripened  and 
was  gathered  in. 

Slowly  laboring,  at  last,  through  a  long,  heavy 
dream  of  confused  time  and  place,  presenting 
faint  glimpses  of  army  surgeons  whom  he  knew, 
and  of  faces  that  had  been  familiar  to  his  youth, — 
dearest  and  kindest  among  them,  Mary  Marshall's, 
with  a  solicitude  upon  it  more  like  reality  than 
anything  he  could  discern, — Lieutenant  Richard 
Doubledick  came  back  to  life.  To  the  beautiful 
life  of  a  calm  autumn  evening  sunset,  to  the  peace- 
ful life  of  a  fresh,  quiet  room  with  a  large  window 
standing  open  ;  a  balcony  beyond,  in  which  were 
moving  leaves  and  sweet-smelling  flowers;  be- 
yond, again,  the  clear  sky,  with  the  sun  full  in  his 
sight,  pouring  its  golden  radiance  on  his  bed. 

It  was  so  tranquil  and  so  lovely  that  he  thought 
he  had  passed  into  another  world.  And  he  said 
in  a  faint  voice,  "  Taunton,  are  you  near  me  ?  " 


282  Christmas  Tales. 

A  face  bent  over  him.     Not  his,  his  mother's. 

"I  came  to  nurse  you.  We  have  nursed  you 
many  weeks.  You  were  moved  here  long  ago. 
Do  you  remember  nothing  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

The  lady  kissed  his  cheek,  and  held  his  hand, 
soothing  him. 

"  Where  is  the  regiment  ?  What  has  happened  ? 
Let  me  call  you  mother.  What  has  happened, 
mother?" 

"A  great  victorj^,  dear.  The  war  is  over,  and 
the  regiment  was  the  bravest  in  the  field." 

His  eyes  kindled,  his  lips  trembled,  he  sobbed, 
and  the  tears  ran  down  his  face.  He  was  very 
weak,  too  weak  to  move  his  hand. 

From  that  time,  he  recovered.  Slowly,  for  he 
he  had  been  desperately  wounded  in  the  head,  and 
had  been  shot  in  the  body,  but  making  some  little 
advance  every  day.  When  he  had  gained  suffi- 
cient strength  to  converse  as  he  lay  in  bed,  he  soon 
began  to  remark  that  Mrs.  Taunton  always  brought 
him  back  to  his  own  history.  Then  he  recalled 
his  preserver's  dying  words,  and  thought,  "  It  com- 
forts her." 

One  day  he  awoke  out  of  a  sleep,  refreshed,  and 
asked  her  to  read  to  him.  But  the  curtain  of  the 
bed,  softening  the  light,  which  she  always  drew 
back  when  he  awoke,  that  she  might  see  him 
from  her  table  at  the  bedside  where  she  sat  at 
work,  was  held  undrawn  ;  and  a  woman's  voice 
spoke,  which  was  not  hers. 

"Can  you  bear  to  see  a  stranger?  "  it  said  softly. 
"  Will  you  like  to  see  a  stranger?  " 

"Stranger!"  he  repeated.  The  voice  awoke 
old  memories,  before  the  days  of  Private  Richard 
Doubledick. 

"A  stranger  now,  but  not  a  stranger  once,"  it 
said  in  tones  that  thrilled  him.  "  Richard,  dear 
Richard,  lost  through  so  many  years,  my  name — " 


The  Poor  Traveler.  283 

He  cried  out  her  name  "Mary,"  and  she  held 
him  in  her  arms,  and  his  head  lay  on  her  bosom. 
•St  ^e  *  -x-  -x- 

Well !  They  were  happy.  It  was  a  long  recov- 
ery, but  they  were  happy  through  it  all.  The  snow 
had  melted  on  the  ground,  and  the  birds  were  sing- 
ing in  the  leafless  thickets  of  the  early  spring, 
when  those  three  were  first  able  to  ride  out  togeth- 
er, and  when  people  flocked  about  the  open  car- 
riage to  cheer  and  congratulate  Captain  Richard 
Doubledick. 

But  even  then  it  became  necessary  for  the  Cap- 
tain, instead  of  returning  to  England,  to  complete 
his  recovery  in  the  climate  of  Southern  France. 
They  found  a  spot  upon  the  Rhone,  within  a  ride 
of  the  old  town  of  Avignon,  and  within  view  of  its 
broken  bridge,  which  was  all  they  could  desire ; 
they  lived  there,  together,  six  months  ;  then  re- 
turned to  England.  Mrs.  Taunton,  growing  old 
after  three  years — though  not  so  old  as  that  her 
bright,  dark  eyes  were  dimmed — and  remembering 
that  her  strength  had  been  benefited  by  the  change, 
resolved  to  go  back  for  a  year  to  those  parts.  So 
she  went  with  a  faithful  servant,  who  had  often 
carried  her  son  in  his  arms  ;  and  she  was  to  be 
rejoined  and  escorted  home,  at  the  year's  end,  by 
Captain  Richard  Doubledick. 

She  wrote  regularly  to  her  children  (as  she  called 
them  now),  and  they  to  her.  She  went  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Aix  ;  and  there,  in  their  own 
chateau  near  the  farmer's  house  she  rented,  she 
grew  into  intimacy  with  a  family  belonging  to 
that  part  of  France.  The  intimacy  began  in  her 
often  meeting  among  the  vineyards  a  pretty  child, 
a  girl  with  a  most  compassionate  heart,  who  was 
never  tired  of  listening  to  the  solitary  English 
lady's  stories  of  her  poor  son  and  the  cruel  wars. 
The  family  were  as  gentle  as  the  child,  and  at 
length  she  came  to  know  them  so  well  that  she 


284  Christmas  Tales. 

accepted  their  invitation  to  pass  the  last  month  of 
her  residence  abroad  under  their  roof.  All  this 
intelligence  she  wrote  home,  piecemeal  as  it  came 
about,  from  time  to  time  ;  and  at  last  enclosed  a 
polite  note,  from  the  head  of  the  chateau,  solicit- 
ing, on  the  occasion  of  his  approaching  mission  to 
that  neighborhood,  the  honor  of  the  company  of 
that  man  so  justly  celebrated,  Captain  Richard 
Doubledick. 

Captain  Doubledick,  now  a  hardy,  handsome 
man  in  the  full  vigor  of  life,  broader  across  the 
chest  and  shoulders  than  he  had  ever  been  before, 
dispatched  a  courteous  reply,  and  followed  it  in 
person.  Traveling  through  all  that  extent  of 
country  after  three  years  of  peace,  he  blessed  the 
better  days  on  which  the  world  had  fallen.  The 
corn  was  golden,  not  drenched  in  unnatural  red ; 
was  bound  in  sheaves  for  food,  not  trodden  under- 
foot by  men  in  mortal  fight.  The  smoke  rose  up 
from  peaceful  hearths,  not  blazing  ruins.  The 
carts  were  laden  with  the  fair  fruits  of  the  earth, 
not  with  wounds  and  death.  To  him  who  had  so 
often  seen  the  terrible  reverse,  these  things  were 
beautiful  indeed ;  and  thev  brought  him  in  a 
softened  spirit  to  the  old  chateau  near  Aix  upon  a 
deep  blue  evening. 

It  was  a  large  chateau  of  the  genuine  old  ghostly 
kind,  with  round  towers,  and  extinguishers,  and  a 
high  leaden  roof,  and  more  windows  than  Aladdin's 
palace.  The  entrance  doors  stood  open,  as  doors 
often  do  in  that  country  when  the  heat  of  the  day 
is  past ;  and  the  Captain  saw  no  bell  or  knocker, 
and  walked  in. 

He  walked  into  a  lofty  stone  hall,  refreshingly 
cool  and  gloomy  after  the  glare  of  a  Southern  day's 
travel.  Extending  along  the  four  sides  of  this 
hall  was  a  gallery,  leading  to  suites  of  rooms  ;  and 
it  was  lighted  from  the  top.  Still  no  bell  was  to 
be  seen. 


The  Poor  Traveler.  285 

"Faith,"  said  the  Captain,  halting,  ashamed  of 
the  clanking  of  his  boots,  "this  is  a  ghostly- 
beginning  !  " 

He  started  back,  and  felt  his  face  turn  white. 
In  the  gallery,  looking  down  at  him,  stood  the 
French  officer — the  officer  whose  picture  he  had 
carried  in  his  mind  so  long  and  so  far.  Compared 
with  the  original,  at  last — in  every  lineament  how 
like  it  was  ! 

He  moved  and  disappeared,  and  Captain  Rich- 
ard Doubledick  heard  his  steps  coming  quickly 
down  into  the  hall.  He  entered  through  an  arch- 
way. There  was  a  bright,  sudden  look  upon  his 
face,  much  such  a  look  as  it  had  worn  in  that 
fatal  moment. 

Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Richard  Doubledick  ? 
Enchanted  to  receive  him  ! 

"  He  has  not  remembered  me,  as  I  have  remem- 
bered him ;  he  did  not  take  such  a  note  of  my  face, 
that  day,  as  I  took  of  his,"  thought  Captain  Rich- 
ard Doubledick.     "  How  shall  I  tell  him  ?  " 

"  You  were  at  Waterloo,"  said  the  French  officer. 

"I  was."  said  Captain  Richard  Doubledick. 
**Andat  Badajos." 

Left  alone  with  the  sound  of  his  own  stern  voice 
in  his  ears,  he  sat  down  to  consider.  What  shall  I 
do,  and  how  shall  I  tell  him?  At  that  time, 
unhappily,  many  deplorable  duels  had  been  fought 
between  English  and  French  officers  arising  out  of 
the  recent  war  ;  and  these  duels,  and  how  to  avoid 
this  officer's  hospitality,  were  the  uppermost 
thought  in  Captain  Richard  Doubledick's  mind, 

"  His  mother,  above  all,"  the  Captain  thought. 
"How  shall  I  tell//^r.?" 

"Spirit  of  my  departed  friend,"  said  he,  "is  it 
through  thee  these  better  thoughts  are  rising  in 
my  mind  ?  Is  it  thou  who  hast  shown  me,  all  the 
way  I  have  drawn  to  meet  this  man,  the  blessings 
of  the  altered  time  ?     Is  it  thou  who  hast  sent  thy 


286  Christmas  Tales. 

stricken  mother  to  me,  to  stay  my  angry  hand  ?  Is 
it  from  thee  the  whisper  comes,  that  this  man  did 
his  duty  as  thou  didst,  — and  as  I  did,  through  thy 
guidance,  which  has  wholly  saved  me  here  on 
earth, — and  that  he  did  no  more?  " 

He  sat  down,  with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands, 
and,  when  he  rose  up,  made  the  second  strong  res- 
olution in  his  life, — that  neither  to  the  French  offi- 
cer, nor  to  the  mother  of  his  departed  friend,  nor 
to  any  soul,  while  either  of  the  two  was  living, 
would  he  breathe  what  only  he  knew.  And  when 
he  touched  that  French  officer's  glass  with  his  own, 
that  day  at  dinner,  he  secretly  forgave  him  in  the 
name  of  the  Divine  Forgiver  of  Injuries. 


The  Legend  of  ihe  Christmas  Tree.      287 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE    CHRISTMAS  TREE. 

Most  cliildreu  have  seen  a  Christmas  tree,  and 
many  know  that  the  pretty  and  pleasant  custom  of 
hanging  gifts  on  its  boughs  comes  from  Germany; 
but  perhaps  few  have  heard  or  read  the  story  that 
is  told  to  little  German  children,  respecting  the 
origin  of  this  custom.  The  story  is  called  "The 
Little  Stranger,"  and  runs  thus  : 

In  a  small  cottage  on  the  borders  of  a  forest 
lived  a  poor  laborer,  who  gained  a  scanty  living  by 
cutting  wood.  He  bad  a  wife  and  two  children 
who  helped  him  in  his  work.  The  boy's  name  was 
Valentine,  and  the  girl  was  called  Mary.  They  were 
obedient,  good  children,  and  a  great  comfort  to 
their  pareiits.  One  winter  evening,  this  happy  lit- 
tle family  were  sitting  quietly  round  the  hearth, 
the  snow  and  the  wind  raging  outside,  while  they 
ate  their  supper  of  dry  bread,  when  a  gentle  tap 
was  heard  on  the  window,  and  a  childish  voice 
cried  from  without :  "  Oh,  let  me  in,  pray  !  I  am 
a  poor  little  child,  with  nothing  to  eat,  and  no 
home  to  go  to,  and  I  shall  die  of  cold  and  iiunger 
unless  you  let  me  in." 

Valentine  and  Mary  jumped  up  from  the  table 
and  ran  to  open  the  door,  saying  :  "  Come  in,  poor 
little  child  !  We  have  not  much  to  give  you,  but 
whatever  we  have  we  will  share  with  you." 

The  stranger-child  came  in  and  warmed  his 
frozen  hands  and  feet  at  the  fire,  and  the  children 
gave  him  the  best  they  had  to  eat,  saying  :  ''  You 
must  be  tired,  too,  poor  child  !  Lie  down  on  our 
bed  ;  we  can  sleep  on  the  bench  for  one  night." 

Then  said  the  little  stranger-child  :  "Thank  God 
for  all  your  kindness  to  me  i" 


288  Christmas  Tales. 

So  they  took  their  little  guest  into  their  sleeping- 
room,  laid  him  on  the  bed,  covered  him  over,  and 
said  to  each  other  :  ' '  How  thankful  we  ought  to 
be  !  We  have  warm  rooms  and  a  cozy  bed,  while 
this  poor  child  has  only  heaven  for  his  roof  and  the 
cold  earth  for  his  sleeping-place." 

When  their  father  and  mother  went  to  bed,  Mary 
and  Valentine  lay  quite  contentedly  on  the  bench 
near  the  fire,  saying,  before  they  fell  asleep  :  "  The 
stranger-child  will  be  so  happy  to-night  in  his 
warm  bed !" 

These  kind  children  had  not  slept  many  hours 
before  Mary  awoke  and  softly  whispered  to  her 
brother  :  "Valentine,  dear,  wake,  and  listen  to  the 
sweet  music  under  the  window." 

Then  Valentine  rubbed  his  ej^es  and  listened.  It 
was  sweet  music  indeed,  and  sounded  like  beautiful 
voices  singing  to  the  tones  of  a  harp  : 

"  O  holy  Child,  we  greet  thee  !  bringing 
Sweet  strains  of  harp  to  aid  our  singing. 

"Thou,  holy  Child,  in  peace  art  sleeping, 
While  we  our  w'atch  without  are  keeping. 

"  Blest  be  the  house  wherein  thou  liest, 
Happiest  on  earth,  to  heaven  the  nighest." 

The  children  listened,  while  a  solemn  joy  filled 
their  hearts  ;  then  they  stepped  softly  to  the  win- 
dow to  see  who  might  be  without. 

In  the  east  was  a  streak  of  rosy  dawn,  and  in  its 
light  they  saw  a  group  of  children  standing  before 
the  house,  clothed  in  silver  garments,  holding 
golden  harps  in  their  hands.  Amazed  at  this  sight, 
the  children  were  still  gazing  out  of  the  window, 
w^hen  a  light  tap  caused  them  to  turn  round.  There 
stood  the  stranger-child  before  them  clad  in  a 
golden  dress,  with  a  gleaming  radiance  round  his 
curling  hair.  *' I  am  the  little  Christ-child,"  he 
said,  '  *  who  wanders  through  the  world   bringing 


The  Legend  of  the  Christmas  Tree.     289 

peace  and  happiness  to  good  children.  You  took 
me  in  and  cared  for  me  when  you  thought  me  a 
poor  child,  and  now  you  shall  have  my  blessing  for 
what  you  have  done." 

A  fir  tree  grew  near  the  house  ;  and  from  this  he 
broke  a  twig,  which  he  planted  in  the  ground,  say- 
ing :  "This  twig  shall  become  a  tree,  and  shall 
bring  forth  fruit  year  by  year  for  you." 

No  sooner  had  he  done  this  than  he  vanished, 
and  with  him  the  little  choir  of  angels.  But  the 
fir- branch  grew  and  became  a  Christmas  tree,  and 
on  its  branches  hung  golden  apples  and  silver  nuts 
every  Christmas-tide. 

Such  is  the  story  told  to  German  children  con- 
cerning their  beautiful  Christmas  trees,  though  we 
know  that  the  real  little  Christ-cbild  can  never  be 
wandering,  cold  and  homeless,  again  in  our  world, 
inasmuch  as  he  is  safe  in  heaven  by  his  Father's 
side ;  yet  we  may  gather  from  this  story  the  same 
truth  which  the  Bible  plainly  tells  us — that  any  one 
who  helps  a  Christian  child  in  distress,  it  will  be 
counted  unto  him  as  if  he  had  indeed  done  it  unto 
Christ  himself.  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it 
unto  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done 
it  unto  me." 


290  Christmas  Tales. 


THB  PEACE  EGG. 

BY  JUI.IANA   HORATIA  KWING. 

Every  one  ought  to  be  happy  at  Christmas.  But 
there  are  many  things  which  ought  to  be,  and  yet 
are  not ;  and  people  are  sometimes  sad  even  in  the 
Christmas  hoUdays. 

The  Captain  and  his  wife  were  sad,  though  it 
was  Christmas  Eve.  Sad,  though  they  were  in  the 
prime  of  life,  blessed  with  good  heahh,  devoted  to 
each  other  and  to  their  children,  with  competent 
means,  a  comfortable  house  on  a  little  freehold 
property  of  their  own,  and,  one  might  say,  every- 
thing that  heart  could  desire.  Sad,  though  they 
were  good  people,  whose  peace  of  mind  had  a 
firmer  foundation  than  their  earthly  goods  alone  ; 
contented  people,  too,  with  plenty  of  occupation 
for  mind  and  body.  Sad — and  in  the  nursery  this 
was  held  to  be  past  all  reason — though  the  children 
were  performing  that  ancient  and  most  entertain- 
ing play  or  Christmas  mystery,  known  as  "The 
Peace  Egg,"  for  their  benefit  and  behoof  alone. 

The  play  was  none  the  worse  that  most  of  the 
actors  were  too  young  to  learn  parts,  so  that  there 
was  very  little  of  the  rather  tedious  dialogue,  only 
plenty  of  dress  and  ribbons,  and  of  fighting  with  the 
wooden  swords.  But  though  Robert,  the  eldest  of 
the  five  children,  looked  bonny  enough  to  warm 
any  father's  heart,  as  he  marched  up  and  down 
with  an  air  learned  by  watching  many  a  parade 
in  barrack-square  and  drill  ground,  and  though 
Nicholas  did  not  cry  in  spite  of  falling  hard,  and 
Dora,  who  took  the  part  of  the  Doctor,  treading 
accidentally  on  his  little  finger  in  picking  him  up. 


The  Peace  Egg.  291 

still  the  Captain  and  his  wife  sighed  nearly  as  often 
as  they  smiled,  and  the  mother  dropped  tears  as 
well  as  pennies  into  the  cap  which  Tom,  as  the 
King  of  Egypt,  brought  round  after  the  perform- 
ance. 


II. 

Many,  many  years  back  the  Captain's  wife  had 
been  a  child  herself,  and  had  laughed  to  see  the  vil- 
lage mummers  act  "The  Peace  Egg, ' '  and  had  been 
quite  happy  on  Christmas  Eve.  Happy,  though  she 
had  no  mother.  Happ)-,  though  her  father  was  a 
stern  man,  very  fond  of  his  only  child,  but  with  an 
obstinate  will  that  not  even  she  dared  thwart. 
She  had  lived  to  thwart  it  and  he  had  never  for- 
given her.  It  was  when  she  married  the  Captain. 
The  old  man  had  a  prejudice  against  soldiers, 
which  was  quite  reason  enough,  in  his  opinion,  for 
his  daughter  to  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  her  future 
life  by  gi\'ing  up  the  soldier  she  loved.  At  last  he 
gave  "her  her  choice  between  the  Captain  and  his 
own  favor  and  money.  She  chose  the  Captain,  and 
was  disowned  and  disinherited. 

The  Captain  bore  a  high  character,  and  was  a 
good  and  clever  ofiicer,  but  that  went  for  nothing 
against  the  old  man's  whim.  He  made  a  very  good 
husband  too  ;  but  even  this  did  not  move  his  father- 
in-law,  who  had  never  held  any  intercourse  with 
him  or  his  wife  since  the  day  of  their  marriage, 
and  who  had  never  seen  his  own  grand-children. 

Amid  the  ups  and  downs  of  their  wanderings,  the 
discomforts  of  shipboard  and  of  stations  in  the  col- 
onies, bad  servants,  and  unwonted  sicknesses,  the 
Captain's  tenderness  never  failed.  If  the  life  was 
rough  the  Captain  was  ready.  He  had  been,  by 
turns,  in  one  strait  or  another,  sick-nurse,  doctor, 
carpenter,  nursemaid  and  cook  to  his  family,  and 


292  Christmas  Tales. 

had,  moreover,  an  idea  that  nobody  filled  these 
offices  quite  so  well  as  himself.  Withal,  his  very 
profession  kept  him  neat,  well-dressed,  and  active. 
In  the  roughest  of  their  ever-changing  quarters  he 
was  a  smart  man,  and  never  changed  his  manner 
from  that  of  the  lover  of  his  wife's  young  days. 

As  years  went  and  children  came,  the  Captain 
and  his  wife  grew  tired  of  traveling.  New  scenes 
were  small  comfort  when  they  heard  of  the  death 
of  old.  friends.  One  foot  of  the  dear,  old,  dull 
home  sky  was  dearer,  after  all,  than  miles  of  the 
unclouded  heavens  of  the  South.  The  grey  hills 
and  over-grown  lanes  of  her  old  home  haunted  the 
Captain's  wife  by  night  and  day,  and  home-sick- 
ness (^that  weariest  of  all  sicknesses)  began  to  take 
the  light  out  of  her  eyes  before  their  time.  It 
preyed  upon  the  Captain  too.  Now  and  then  he 
would  say,  fretfully,  '  I  should  like  a  resting-place 
in  our  own  country,  however  small,  before  every- 
body  is  dead  !  But  the  children's  prospects  have 
to  be  considered."  The  continued  estrangement 
from  the  old  man  was  an  abiding  sorrow  also,  and 
they  had  hopes  that,  if  only  they  could  get  home, 
he  might  be  persuaded  to  peace  and  charity  this 
time. 

At  last  they  were  sent  home.  But  the  hard  old 
father  still  would  not  relent.  He  returned  their 
letters  unopened.  This  bitter  disappointment 
made  the  Captain's  wife  so  ill  that  she  almost 
died,  and  in  one  month  the  Captain's  hair  became 
iron  gray.  He  reproached  himself  for  having  ever 
taken  the  daughter  from  her  father,  "to  kill  her 
at  last,"  as  he  said.  And  (thinking  of  his  own 
children)  he  even  reproached  himself  for  having 
robbed  the  old  widower  of  his  only  child.  After 
two  years  at  home  his  regiment  was  ordered  again 
on  foreign  duty.  He  failed  to  effect  an  exchange, 
and  they  prepared  to  move  once  more — from  Chat- 
ham to  Calcutta.    Never  before  had  the  packing  to 


The  Peace  Egg.  293 

which  she  was  so  well  accustomed,  been  so  bitter  a 
task  to  the  Captain's  wife. 

It  was  at  the  darkest  hour  of  this  gloomy  time 
that  the  Captain  came  in,  waving  above  his  head  a 
letter  which  changed  all  their  plans. 

Now  close  by  the  old  home  of  the  Captain's 
wife  there  had  lived  a  man,  much  older  than  her- 
self, who  yet  had  loved  her  with  a  devotion  as 
great  as  that  of  the  young  Captain.  She  never 
knew  it,  for  when  he  saw  that  she  had  given  her 
heart  to  his  younger  rival,  he  kept  silence,  and  he 
never  asked  for  what  he  knew  he  might  have 
had — the  old  man's  authority  in  his  favor.  So 
generous  was  the  affection  which  he  could  never 
conquer,  that  he  constantly  tried  to  reconcile  the 
father  to  his  children  whilst  he  lived,  and,  when  he 
died,  he  bequeathed  his  house  and  small  estate  to 
the  woman  he  had  loved. 

"  It  will  be  a  legacy  of  peace,"  he  thought,  on 
his  death  bed.  "The  old  man  cannot  hold  out 
when  she  and  her  children  are  constantly  in  sight. 
And  it  may  please  God  that  I  shall  know  of  the 
reunion  I  have  not  been  permitted  to  see  with  my 
eyes." 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  the  Captain's  regi- 
ment went  to  India  without  him,  and  that  the  Cap- 
tain's wife  and  her  father  lived  on  opposite  sides  of 
the  same  road. 


III. 

The  eldest  of  the  Captain's  children  was  a  boy. 
He  was  named  Robert,  after  his  grandfather,  and 
seemed  to  have  inherited  a  good  deal  of  the  old 
gentleman's  character,  mixed  with  gentler  traits. 
He  was  a  fair,  fine  boy,  tall  and  stout  for  his  age, 
with  the  Captain's  regular  features,  and  (he  flat- 
tered himself)  the  Captain's  firm  step  and  martial 
bearing.     He  was    apt — like   his    grandfather — to 


294  Christmas  Tales. 

hold  his  own  will  to  be  other  people's  law,  and 
(happily  for  the  peace  of  the  nursery)  this  opinion 
was  devoutly  shared  by  his  brother  Nicholas. 
Though  the  Captain  had  left  the  army,  Robin  con- 
tinued to  command  an  irregular  force  of  volunteers 
in  the  nursery,  and  never  was  colonel  more  des- 
potic. His  brothers  and  sisters  were  by  turn  infan- 
tr}^  cavalry,  engineers,  and  artillery,  according  to 
his  whim. 

The  Captain  alone  was  a  match  for  his  strong- 
willed  son. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Sarah,  one  morning, 
flouncing  in  upon  the  Captain,  just  as  he  was  about 
to  start  for  the  neighboring  town, — "  If  you  please, 
sir,  I  wish  you'd  speak  to  Master  Robert.  He's  past 
my  powers." 

"I've  no  doubt  of  it,"  thought  the  Captain,  but 
he  only  said,  "Well,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

"Night  after  night  do  I  put  him  to  bed,"  said 
Sarah,  "and  night  after  night  does  he  get  up  as 
soon  as  I'm  out  of  the  room,  and  says  he's  orderly 
oflBcer  for  the  evening,  and  goes  about  in  his  night- 
shirt and  his  feet  as  bare  as  boards." 

The  Captain  fingered  his  heavy  moustache  to 
hide  a  smile,  but  he  listened  patiently  to  Sarah's 
complaints. 

"  It  ain't  so  much  /itin  I  should  mind,  sir,"  she 
continued,  "  but  he  goes  round  the  beds  and  wakes 
up  the  other  young  gentlemen  and  Miss  Dora,  one 
after  another,  and  when  I  speak  to  him,  he  gives 
me  all  the  sauce  he  can  lay  his  tongue  to,  and  says 
he's  going  round  the  guards.  The  other  night  I 
tried  to  put  him  back  in  his  bed,  but  he  got  away 
and  ran  all  over  the  house,  me  hunting  him  every- 
where, and  not  a  sign  of  him,  till  he  jumps  out  on 
me  from  the  garret  stairs  and  nearly  knocks  me 
down.  '  I've  visited  the  outposts,  Sarah,*  says  he; 
'all's  well.'     And  off  he  goes  to  bed  as  bold  as 


The  Peace  Egg.  295 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  j-our  mistress?"  asked  the 
Captain. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Sarah,  ''And  missis  spoke  to 
him,  and  he  promised  not  to  go  round  the  guards 
again." 

"Has  he  broken  his  promise?"  asked  the  Cap- 
tain, with  a  look  of  anger,  and  also  of  surprise. 

"When  I  opened  the  door  last  night,  sir,"  con- 
tinued Sarah,  in  her  shrill  treble,  "  what  should  I 
see  in  the  dark  but  Master  Robert  a-walking  up 
and  down  with  the  carpet-brush  stuck  in  his  arm. 
'  Who  goes  there  ?'  says  he.  '  You  awdacious  boy  !' 
says  I,  '  Didn't  5'ou  promise  your  ma  you'd  leave 
off  them  tricks?'  'I'm  not  going  round  the 
guards,'  says  he ;  '  I  promised  not.  But  I'm  for 
sentry-duty  to-night.'  And  say  what  I  would  to 
him,  all  he  had  for  me  was,  *  You  mustn't  speak  to 
a  sentry  on  duty. '  So  I  says,  '  As  sure  as  I  live  till 
morning,  I'll  go  to  ^-our  pa,'  for  he  pays  no  more 
attention  to  his  ma  than  to  me,  nor  to  any  one 
else." 

"Please  to  see  that  the  bed  is  taken  out  of  my 
dressing-room,"  said  the  Captain.  "  I  will  attend 
to  Master  Robert." 

With  this  Sarah  had  to  content  herself,  and  she 
went  back  to  the  nursery.  Robert  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen,  and  made  no  reply  to  her  summons.  On 
this  the  unwary  nursemaid  flounced  into  the  bed- 
room to  look  for  him,  when  Robert,  who  was 
hidden  beneath  a  table,  darted  forth,  and  promptly 
locked  her  in. 

"  You're  under  arrest,"  he  shouted,  through  the 
keyhole. 

"Let  me  out !  "  shrieked  Sarah. 

"  I'll  send  a  file  of  the  guard  to  fetch  you  to  the 
orderly-room,  by-and-by,"  said  Robert,  "for  'pre- 
ferring frivolous  complaints.'"  And  he  departed 
to  the  farmyard  to  look  at  the  ducks. 

That  night,    when  Robert  went  up  to  bed,  the 


296  Christmas  Tales. 

Captain  quietly  locked  him  into  his  dressing-room, 
from  which  the  bed  had  been  removed. 

"You're  for  sentry  duty,  to-night,"  said  the 
Captain.  "The  carpet- brush  is  in  the  corner. 
Good-evening." 

As  his  father  anticipated,  Robert  was  soon  tired 
of  the  sentry  game  in  these  new  circumstances, 
and  long  before  the  night  had  half  worn  away  he 
wished  himself  safely  undressed  and  in  his  own 
comfortable  bed.  At  half-past  twelve  o'clock  he 
felt  as  if  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  knocked 
at  the  Captain's  door. 

"Who  goes  there  ?  "  said  the  Captain. 

"Mayn't  I  go  to  bed,  please?"  whined  poor 
Robert. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  Captain.  "  You're  on 
duty." 

And  on  duty  poor  Robert  had  to  lemain,  for  the 
Captain  had  a  will  as  well  as  his  son.  So  he  rolled 
himself  up  in  his  father's  railway  rug,  and  slept 
on  the  floor. 

The  next  night  he  was  very  glad  to  go  quietly  to 
bed,  and  remain  there. 


IV. 


The  Captain's  children  sat  at  breakfast  in  a  large, 
bright  nursery.  It  was  the  room  where  the  old 
bachelor  had  died,  and  now  ker  children  made  it 
merry.     This  was  just  what  he  would  have  wished. 

They  all  sat  round  the  table,  for  it  was  breakfast- 
time.  There  were  five  of  them,  and  five  bowls  of 
boiled  bread-and -milk  smoked  before  them.  Sarah 
(a  foolish,  gossiping  girl,  who  acted  as  nurse  till 
better  could  be  found)  was  waiting  on  them,  and 
by  the  table  sat  Darkie,  the  black  retriever,  his 
long,  curly  back  swaying  slightly  from  the  diffi- 
culty of  holding  himself  up,  and  his  solemn  hazel 


The  Peace  Egg.  297 

eyes  fixed  very  intently  on  each  and  all  of  the 
breakfast  bowls.  He  was  as  silent  and  sagacious 
as  Sarah  was  talkative  and  empty-headed.  Though 
large,  he  was  unassuming.  Pax,  the  pug,  on  the 
contrary,  who  came  up  to  the  first  joint  of  Darkie's 
leg,  stood  defiantly  on  his  dignity  (and  his  short 
stumps).  He  always  placed  himself  in  front  of  the 
bigger  dog,  and  made  a  point  of  hustling  him  in 
doorways  and  of  going  first  downstairs. 

Robert's  tongue  was  seldom  idle,  even  at  meals. 
'*  Sarah,  who  is  that  tall  old  gentleman  at  church, 
in  the  seat  near  the  pulpit  ?  "  he  asked.  "He  wears 
a  cloak  like  what  the  Blues  wear,  only  all  blue,  and 
is  tall  enough  for  a  Life-guardsman.  He  stood 
when  we  were  kneeling  down,  and  said,  Almighty 
ajid  most  merciful  Father,  louder  than  anybody." 

Sarah  knew  who  the  old  gentleman  was.  and 
knew  also  that  the  chil  ireu  did  not  know,  and  that 
their  parents  did  not  see  fit  to  tell  them  as  yet. 
But  she  had  a  passion  for  telling  and  hearing  news, 
and  would  rather  gossip  with  a  child  than  not 
gossip  at  all.  "Never  you  mind,  Master  Robin," 
she  said,  nodding  sagaciously.  "  Little  boys  aren't 
to  know  everything." 

"Ah,  then,  I  know  you  don't  know,"  replied 
Robert;  "if  you  did,  you'd  tell." 

"  I  do,"  ,'iaid  Sarah. 

"  You  don't,"  said  Robin. 

"Your  ma's  forbid  you  to  contradict,  Master 
Robin,"  said  Sarah;  "and  if  you  do  I  shall  tell 
her.  I  know  well  enough  who  the  old  gentleman 
is,  and  perhaps  I  might  tell  you,  only  you'd  go 
straight  off  and  tell  again." 

"  No,  no,  I  wouldn't !  "  shouted  Robin.  "  I  can 
keep  a  secret,  indeed  I  can  1  Pinch  my  little  finger, 
and  try.  Do,  do  tell  me,  Sarah,  there's  a  dear 
Sarah,  and  then  I  shall  know  you  know."  And 
he  danced  round  her,  catching  at  her  skirts. 

To  keep  a  secret  was  beyond  Sarah's  powers. 


298  Christmas  Tales. 

"Do  let  my  dress  be,  Master  Robin,"  she  said, 
** you're  ripping  out  all  the  gathers,  and  listen 
while  I  whisper.  As  sure  as  you're  a  living  boy, 
that  gentleman's  your  own  grandpapa." 

Robin  lost  his  hold  on  Sarah's  dress  ;  his  arms 
fell  by  his  side,  and  he  stood  with  his  brows  knit 
for  some  minutes,  thinking.  Then  he  said,  em- 
phatically, "What  lies  j^ou  do  tell,  Sarah  !  " 

"Oh,  Robin!"  cried  Nicholas,  who  had  drawn 
near,  his  thick  curls  standing  stark  with  curiosity, 
*' Mamma  said  'lies'  wasn't  a  proper  word,  and 
you  promised  not  to  say  it  again." 

"I  forgot/'  said  Robin.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  break 
my  promise.  But  she  does  tell — ahem  \—you  know 
what. ' ' 

"You  wicked  boy!"  cried  the  enraged  Sarah  ; 
*  •  how  dare  3^ou  say  such  a  thing,  and  everybody 
in  the  place  knows  he's  your  ma's  own  pa." 

"I'll  go  and  ask  her,"  said  Robin,  and  he  was 
at  the  door  in  a  moment ;  but  Sarah,  alarmed  by 
the  thought  of  getting  into  a  scrape  herself,  caught 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  Don't  you  go,  love  ;  it'll  only  make  your  ma 
angry.     There  ;  it  was  all  my  nonsense." 

"  Then  it's  not  true?"  said  Robin,  indignantly. 
"  What  did  you  tell  me  so  for?  " 

"It  was  all  my  jokes  and  nonsense,"  said  the 
unscrupulous  Sarah.  "  But  your  ma  wouldn't  like 
to  know  I've  said  such  a  thing.  And  Master  Robert 
wouldn't  be  so  mean  as  to  tell  tales,  would  he, 
love?" 

"I'm  not  mean,"  said  Robin  stoutly;  "and  I 
don't  tell  tales  ;  but  you  do,  and  you  tell  you  know 
ze/-^a^,  besides.  However,  I  won't  go  this  time; 
but  I'll  tell  you  what — if  you  tell  tales  of  me  to 
papa  any  more,  I'll  tell  him  what  you  said  about 
the  old  gentleman  in  the  blue  cloak, "  With  which 
parting  threat  Robin  strode  off  to  join  his  brothers 
and  sisters. 


The  Peace  Egg,  299 


After  Robert  left  the  nursery  he  strolled  out  of 
doors,  and,  peeping  through  the  gate  at  the  end  of 
the  drive,  he  saw  a  party  of  boys  going  through 
what  looked  like  a  military  exercise  with  sticks 
and  a  good  deal  of  stamping  ;  but,  instead  of  mere 
words  of  command,  they  all  spoke  by  turns,  as  in 
a  play.  Not  being  at  all  shy,  he  joined  them,  and 
asked  so  many  questions  that  he  soon  got  to  know 
all  about  it.  They  were  practicing  a  Christmas 
mumming-play,  called  "The  Peace  Egg."  Why 
it  was  called  thus  they  could  not  tell  him,  as  there 
■\vas  nothing  whatever  about  eggs  in  it,  and  so  far 
from  being  a  play  of  peace,  it  was  made  up  of  a 
series  of  battles  between  certain  valiant  knights 
and  princes.  The  rehearsal  being  over,  Robin 
went  with  the  boys  to  the  sexton's  house  (he  was 
father  to  one  of  the  characters  called  the  "  King  of 
Egypt")  where  they  showed  him  the  dresses  they 
were  to  wear.  These  were  made  of  gay-colored 
materials,  and  covered  with  ribbons,  except  that  of 
the  "  Black  Prince  of  Paradine,"  which  was  black, 
as  became  his  title.  The  boys  also  showed  him  the 
book  from  which  they  learned  their  parts,  and 
which  was  to  be  bought  at  the  post-office  store. 

"Then  are  you  the  mummers  who  come  round 
at  Christmas,  and  act  in  people's  kitchens,  and 
people  give  them  money,  that  mamma  used  to  tell 
us  about?"  said  Robin. 

The  boy  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said, 
'*  Well,  I  suppose  we  are." 

"  And  do  you  go  out  in  the  snow  from  one  house 
to  another  at  night ;  and  oh,  don't  you  enjoy  it  ?" 
cried  Robin. 

"We  like  it  well  enough,"  the  lad  admitted. 

Robin  bought  a  copy  of  "  The  Peace  Egg."  He 
was  resolved  to  have  a  nursery  performance,  and  to 


300  Christmas  Tales. 

take  the  chief  part  himself.  The  others  were  will- 
ing for  what  he  wished,  but  there  were  difficulties. 
In  the  first  place,  there  are  eight  characters  in  the 
play,  and  there  were  only  five  children.  They 
decided  among  themselves  to  leave  out  the  "  Fool," 
and  Mamma  said  that  another  character  was  not  to 
be  acted  by  any  of  them,  or  indeed  mentioned  ; 
"the  little  one  who  comes  in  at  the  end,"  Robin 
explained.  Mamma  had  her  reasons,  and  these 
were  always  good.  She  had  not  been  altogether 
pleased  that  Robin  had  bought  the  play.  It  was 
a  very  old  thing,  she  said,  and  very  queer  ;  not 
adapted  for  a  child's  play.  If  Mamma  thought 
the  parts  not  quite  fit  for  the  children  tolearn,  they 
found  them  much  too  long  :  so  in  the  end  she 
picked  out  some  bits  for  each,  which  they  learned 
easily,  and  which,  with  a  good  deal  of  fighting, 
made  quite  as  good  a  story  of  it  as  if  they  had 
done  the  whole.  What  may  have  been  wanting 
otherwise  was  made  up  for  by  the  dresses,  which 
were  charming, 

Robin  was  St.  George,  Nicholas  the  valiant 
Slasher,  Dora  the  Doctor,  and  the  other  two  Hec- 
tor and  the  King  of  Egypt,  "And  now  we've  no 
Black  Prince !"  cried  Robin  in  dismay. 

"  Let  Darkie  be  the  Black  Prince,"  said  Nicholas. 

"When  you  wave  your  stick  he'll  jump  for  it, 
and  then  you  can  pretend  to  fight  with  him." 

"  It's  not  a  stick,   it's    a   sword,"    said    Robin. 

"However,  Darkie  may  be  the  Black  Prince  " 

"And  what's  Pax  to  be  ?"  asked  Dora  ;  "  for  you 
know  he  will  come  if  Darkie  does,  and  he'll  run  in 
before  everybody  else  too," 

"Then  he  must  be  the  Fool,"  said  Robin,  "and 
it  will  do  very  well,  for  the  Fool  comes  in  before 
the  rest,  and  Pax  can  have  his  red  coat  on,  and  the 
collar  with  the  little  bells." 


The  Peace  Egg.  301 

VI. 

Robin  thought  that  Christmas  would  never  come. 
To  the  Captain  and  his  wife  it  seemed  to  come  too 
fast.  They  had  hoped  it  might  bring  reconciliation 
with  the  old  man,  but  it  seemed  they  had  hoped  in. 
vain. 

There  were  times  now  when  the  Captain  almost 
regretted  the  old  bachelor's  bequest.  The  familiar 
scenes  of  her  old  home  sharpened  his  wife's  grief. 
To  see  her  father  every  Sunday  in  church,  with 
marks  of  age  and  infirmity  upon  him,  but  with  not 
a  look  of  tenderness  for  his  only  child,  this  tried 
her  sorely. 

"She  felt  it  less  abroad,"  thought  the  Captain. 
"  A  home  in  which  she  frets  herself  to  death,  is 
after  all,  no  great  boon." 

Christmas  Eve  came. 

"I'm  sure  it's  quite  Christmas  enough  now," 
said  Robin.  "We'll  have  'The  Peace  Egg'  to- 
night." 

So  as  the  Captain  and  his  wife  sat  sadly  over 
their  fire,  the  door  opened,  and  Pax  ran  in  shaking 
his  bells,  and  followed  bj'  the  nursery  mummers. 
The  performance  was  most  successful.  It  was  by 
no  means  pathetic,  and  yet,  as  has  been  said,  the 
Captain's  wife  shed  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  mamma?"  said  Robert, 
abruptly  dropping  his  sword  and  running  up  to 
her. 

"Don't  tease  mamma  with  questions,"  said  the 
Captain;  "she  is  not  very  well,  and  rather  sad. 
We  must  all  be  very  kind  and  good  to  poor  dear 
mamma  ;"  and  the  Captain  raised  his  wife's  hand 
to  his  lips  as  he  spoke.  Robin  seized  the  other 
hand  and  kissed  it  tenderly.  He  was  very  fond  of 
his  mother.  At  this  moment  Pax  took  a  little  run, 
and  jumped  on  to  mamma's  lap,  where,  sitting 
facing  the  company,  he  opened  his  black  mouth 


302  Christmas  Tales, 

and  yawned,  with  a  ludicrous  inappropriateness 
worthy  of  any  clown.     It  made  everybody  laugh. 

"  And  now  we'll  go  and  act  in  the  kitchen,"  said 
Nicholas. 

"  Supper  at  nine  o'clock,  remember,"  shouted 
the  Captain.  "  And  we  are  going  to  have  real  fru- 
ment}^  and  Yule  cakes,  such  as  mamma  used  to  tell 
us  of  when  we  were  abroad." 

"  Hurray!"  shouted  the  mummers,  and  they  ran 
off.  Pax  leaping  from  his  seat  just  in  time  to  hustle 
the  Black  Prince  in  the  doorway.  "When  the  din- 
ing-room door  was  shut,  Robert  raised  his  hand, 
and  said  "Hush  !" 

The  mummers  pricked  their  ears,  but  there  was 
only  a  distant  harsh  and  scraping  sound,  as  of  stones 
rubbed  together. 

"They're  cleaning  the  passages,"  Robert  went 
on,  "and  Sarah  told  me  they' meant  to  finish  the 
mistletoe,  and  have  everything  cleaned  up  by  sup- 
per-time. They  don't  want  us,  I  know.  Look  here, 
we'll  go  real  mumming  instead.  That  will  be  fun  !" 

Nicholas  grinned  with  delight. 

"  But  will  mamma  let  us?"  he  enquired. 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  all  right  if  we're  back  by  supper- 
time,"  said  Robert,  hastily.  "  Onl}-  of  course  we 
must  take  care  not  to  catch  cold.  Come  and  help 
me  to  get  some  wraps. ' ' 

The  old  oak  chest  in  which  spare  shawls,  rugs, 
and  coats  were  kept  was  soon  ransacked,  and  the 
mummers'  gay  dresses  hidden  by  motley  wrappers. 
But  no  sooner  did  Darkie  and  Pax  behold  the  coats, 
etc.,  than  they  at  once  began  to  leap  and  bark,  as 
it  was  their  custom  to  do  when  they  saw  any  one 
dressing  to  go  out.  Robin  was  sorely  afraid  that 
this  would  betray  them  ;  but  though  the  Captain 
and  his  wife  heard  the  barking  they  did  not  guess 
the  cause. 

So  the  front  door  being  very  gently  opened  and 
closed,  the  nursery  mummers  stole  away. 


The  Peace  Egg,  303 

VII. 

It  was  a  very  fine  night.  The  snow  was  well- 
trodden  on  the  drive,  so  that  it  did  not  wet  their 
feet,  but  on  the  trees  and  shrubs  it  hung  soft  and 
white. 

"  It's  much  jollier  being  out  at  night  than  in  the 
daytime,"  said  Robin. 

"Much,"  responded  Nicholas,  with  intense  feel- 
ing. 

"  We'll  go  a  wassailing  next  week,"  said  Robin. 
"I  know  all  about  it,  and  perhaps  we  shall  get  a 
good  lot  of  money,  and  then  we'll  buy  tin  swords 
with  scabbards  for  next  year.  I  don't  like  these 
sticks.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  it  wasn't  so  long  between 
one  Christmas  and  another." 

' '  Where  shall  we  go  first  ? ' '  asked  Nicholas,  as 
they  turned  into  the  high  road. 

"  This  is  the  first  house,"  he  said.  "V/e'llact 
here;"  and  all  pressed  in  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Once  safe  within  the  grounds,  they  shouldered 
their  sticks,  and  marched  with  composure. 

' '  You'  re  going  to  the  front  door , "  said  Nicholas. 
"Mummers  ought  to  go  to  the  back." 

"  We  don't  know  where  it  is,"  said  Robin,  and 
he  rang  the  front-door  bell.  There  was  a  pause. 
Then  lights  shone,  steps  were  heard,  and  at  last  a 
sound  of  much  unbarring,  unbolting,  and  unlock- 
ing. It  might  have  been  a  prison.  Then  the  door 
was  opened  by  an  elderly,  timid-looking  woman, 
who  held  a  tallow  candle  above  her  head. 

"Who's  there?"  she  said,  "at  this  time  of 
night. ' ' 

"We're  Christmas  mummers,"  said  Robin, 
stoutly;  "we  didn't  know  the  way  to  the  back 
door,  but " 

"And  don't  you  know  better  than  to  come 
here?"  said  the  woman.  "Be  ofif  with  you,  as 
fast  as  you  can." 


304  Christmas  Tales. 

"You're  only  the  servant,"  said  Robin.  "Go 
and  ask  your  master  and  mistress  if  they  wouldn't 
like  to  see  us  act.     We  do  it  very  well." 

"You  impudent  boy,  be  off  with  j^ou  !"  repeated 
the  woman.  "  Master'd  no  more  let  you  nor  any 
other  such  rubbish  set  foot  in  this  house " 

"Woman!"  shouted  a  voice  close  behind  her, 
which  made  her  start  as  if  she  had  been  shot,  ' '  who 
authorizes  you  to  say  what  your  master  will  or  will 
not  do,  before  you've  asked  him?  The  boy  is 
right.  You  are  the  servant,  and  it  is  not  your  busi- 
ness to  choose  for  me  whom  I  shall  or  shall  not 
see." 

"I  meant  no  harm,  sir,  I'm  sure,"  said  the 
housekeeper  ;   "  but  I  thought  you'd  never " 

"  M}'-  good  woman,"  said  her  master,  "  if  T  had 
wanted  somebody  to  think  for  me,  you're  the  last 
person  I  should  have  employed.  I  hire  you  to 
obey  orders,  not  to  think." 

"I'm  sure,  sir,"  said  the  housekeeper,  whose 
only  form  of  argument  was  reiteration,  "I  never 
thought  you  would  have  seen  them " 

"Then  you  were  wrong,"  shouted  her  master. 
"  I  will  see  them.     Bring  them  in." 

He  was  a  tall,  gaunt  old  man,  and  Robin  stared 
at  him  for  some  minutes,  wondering  where  he  could 
have  seen  somebody  very  like  him.  At  last  he  re- 
membered. It  was  the  old  gentleman  of  the  blue 
cloak. 

The  children  threw  off  their  wraps,  the  house- 
keeper helping  them,  and  chattering  ceaselessly, 
from  sheer  nervousness. 

"Well,  to  be  sure,"  said  she,  "their  dresses  are 
pretty,  too.  And  they  seem  quite  a  better  sort  of 
children,  they  talk  quite  genteel.  I  might  ha' 
knowed  they  weren't  like  common  mummers,  but 
I  was  so  flusterated  hearing  the  bell  go  so  late, 
and " 

"Are  they  ready  ?"  said  the  old  man,  who   had 


The  Peace  Egg.  305 

stood  like  a  ghost  in  the  dim  light  of  the  flaring 
tallow  candle,  grimly  watching  the  proceedings. 

"Yes,  sir.  Shall  I  take  them  to  the  kitchen, 
sir?" 

" for  yon  and  the  other  idle  hussies  to  gape 

and  grin  at?  No.  Bring  them  to  the  library,"  he 
snapped,  and  then  stalked  off,  leading  the  way. 

The  housekeeper  accordingly  led  them  to  the 
library,  and  then  withdrew,  nearly  falling  on  her 
face  as  she  left  the  room  by  stumbling  over  Darkie, 
who  slipped  in  last  like  a  black  shadow. 

The  old  man  was  seated  in  a  carved  oak  chair  by 
the  fire. 

"I  never  said  the  dogs  w^ere  to  come  in,"  he 
said. 

"But  we  can't  do  without  them,  please,"  said 
Robin,  boldly.  "You  see  there  are  eight  people 
in  '  The  Peace  Egg,'  and  there  are  only  five  of  us; 
and  so  Darkie  has  to  be  the  Black  Prince,  and  Pax 
has  to  be  the  Fool,  and  so  we  have  to  have  them." 

"  Five  and  two  make  seven,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  grim  smile ;  '  *  what  do  you  do  for  the 
eighth?" 

"Oh,  that's  the  little  one  at  the  end,"  said 
Robin,  confidently.  "  Mamma  said  we  weren't  to 
mention  him,  but  I  think  that's  because  we're 
children. — You're  grown  up,  you  know,  so  I'll 
show  you  the  book,  and  you  can  see  for  yourself," 
he  went  on,  drawing  "The  Peace  Egg"  from  his 
pocket:  "there,  that's  the  picture  of  him,  on  the 
last  page  ;  black,  with  horns  and  a  tail." 

The  old  man's  stern  face  relaxed  into  a  broad 
smile  as  he  examined  the  grotesque  woodcut ;  but 
when  he  turned  to  the  first  page  the  smile  vanished 
in  a  deep  frown,  and  his  eyes  shone  like  hot  coals 
with  anger.     He  had  seen  Robin's  name. 

"Who  sent  you  here?"  he  asked,  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "Speak,  and  speak  the  truth!  Did  your 
mother  send  you  here  ?" 


306  Christmas  Tales. 

Robin  thought  the  old  mau  was  angry  -with  them 
for  playing  truant.  He  said,  slowly,  **N — no. 
She  didn't  exactly  send  us;  but  I  don't  think  she'll 
mind  our  having  come  if  we  get  back  in  time  for 
supper.  Mamma  never  forbid  our  going  mum- 
ming, you  know." 

"  I  don't  suppose  she  ever  thought  of  it, "  Nich- 
olas said  candidly,  wagging  his  curly  head  from 
side  to  side. 

"She  knows  we're  mummers,"  said  Robin,  "for 
she  helped  us.  When  we  were  abroad,  you  know, 
she  used  to  tell  us  about  the  mummers  acting  at 
Christmas,  when  she  was  a  little  girl;  and  so  we 
thought  we'd  be  mummers,  and  so  we  acted  to 
papa  and  mamma,  and  so  we  thought  we'd  act  to 
the  maids,  but  they  were  cleaning  the  passages, and 
so  we  thought  we'd  really  go  mumming;  and  we've 
got  several  other  houses  to  go  to  before  supper- 
time;  we'd  better  begin,  I  think,"  said  Robin;  and 
without  more  ado  he  began  to  march  round  and 
round,  raising  his  sword,  and  the  performance 
went  off  quite  as  creditably  as  before. 

As  the  children  acted  the  old  man's  anger  wore 
off.  He  watched  them  with  an  interest  he  could 
not  repress.  When  Nicholas  took  some  hard 
thwacks  from  Robert  without  flinching,  the  old 
man  clapped  his  hands;  and  after  the  encounter 
was  over,  he  said  he  would  not  have  had  the  dogs 
excluded  on  any  consideration.  It  was  just  at  the 
end,  when  they  were  all  marching  round  and 
round,  holding  on  by  each  other's  swords  ' '  over  the 
shoulder,"  and  singing  "A  mumming  we  will  go, 
etc.,"  that  Nicholas  suddenly  brought  the  circle  to 
a  stand-still  by  stopping  dead  short,  and  staring  up 
at  the  wall  before  him. 

' '  What  are  you  stopping  for  ?  ' '  said  Robert, 
turning  indignantly  around. 

"Look  there!"  cried  Nicholas,  pointing  to  a 
little  painting  which  hung  above  the  old  man's 
head. 


The  Peace  Egg.  307 

Robin  loked,  and  said  abruptly,  "  It's  Dora." 

''Which  is  Dora?"  asked  the  old  man  in  a 
strange,  sharp  tone. 

"Here she  is,"  said  Robin  and  Nicholas  in  one 
breath,  as  they  dragged  her  forward. 

"  She's  the  Doctor,"  said  Robin,  "and  you  can't 
see  her  face  for  berthings.  Dor,  take  oflF  your  cap 
and  pull  back  that  hood.  There!  Oh,  it  is  like 
her  !" 

It  was  the  portrait  of  her  mother  as  a  child;  but 
of  this  the  nursery  mummers  knew  nothing.  The 
old  man  looked  as  the  peaked  cap  and  hood  fell 
away  from  Dora's  face  and  fair  curls,  and  then  he 
uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  buried  his  head  upon  his 
hands.  The  boys  stood  stupefied,  but  Dora  ran  up 
to  him,  and  putting  her  little  hands  on  his  arms, 
said,  in  childish  pitying  tones,  *'Oh,  I  am  so  sorry! 
Have  you  got  a  headache?  May  Robin  put  the 
shovel  in  the  fire  for  you  ?  Mamma  has  hot 
shovels  for  her  headaches."  And  though  the  old 
man  did  not  speak  or  move,  she  went  on  coaxing 
him,  and  stroking  his  head,  on  which  the  hair  was 
white.  At  this  moment  Pax  took  one  of  his  unex- 
pected runs,  and  jumped  on  to  the  old  man's  knee, 
in  his  own  particular  fashion,  and  then  yawned  at 
the  company.  The  old  man  was  startled,  and 
lifted  his  face  suddenly.     It  was  wet  with  tears. 

"  Why,  you're  crying  !"  exclaimed  the  children 
with  one  breath. 

"  It's  very  odd,"  said  Robin,  fretfiilly.  "  I  can't 
think  what's  the  matter  to-night.  Mamma  was 
crying  too  when  we  were  acting,  and  papa  said  we 
weren't  to  tease  her  with  questions,  and  he  kissed 
her  hand,  and  I  kissed  her  hand  too.  And  papa 
said  we  must  all  be  very  good  and  kind  to  poor  dear 
mamma,  and  so  I  mean  to  be,  she's  so  good.  And 
I  think  we'd  better  go  home,  or  perhaps  she'll  be 
frightened,"  Robin  added. 

"She's  so  good,  is  she?"  asked  the  old  man. 


308  Christmas  Tales. 

He  had  put  Pax  off  his  knee,  and  taken  Dora  on 
to  it. 

"Oh,  isn't  she!"  said  Nicholas,  swaying  his 
curly  head  from  side  to  side  as  usual. 

"She's  always  good,"  said  Robin,  emphatically  ; 
"  and  so's  papa.  But  I'm  always  doing  something 
I  oughtn't  to,"  he  added,  slowly.  "But  then,  you 
know,  I  don't  pretend  to  obey  Sarah.  I  don't  care 
a  fig  for  Sarah  ;  and  I  won't  obey  any  woman  but 
mamma." 

' '  Who's  Sarah?  "  asked  the  grandfather. 

"She's our  nurse,"  said  Robin,  "and  she  tells — 
I  mustn't  say  what  she  tells— but  it's  not  the  truth. 
She  told  one  about jyc/^  the  other  day,"  he  added. 

"  About  me  ? ' '  said  the  old  man. 

"  She  said  you  were  our  grandpapa.  So  then  I 
knew  she  was  telling  you  know  zvhaiy 

"How  did  you  know  it  wasn't  true?"  the  old 
man  asked. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Robin,  "  if  you  were  our 
mamma's  father,  you'd  know  her,  and  be  very  fond 
of  her,  and  come  to  see  her.  And  then  you'd  be 
our  grandfather,  too,  and  you'd  have  us  to  see  you, 
and  perhaps  give  us  Christmas-boxes.  I  wish  you 
were,"  Robin  added  with  a  sigh.  "It  would  be 
very  nice." 

"Would  you  like  it?"  asked  the  old  man  of 
Dora. 

And  Dora,  who  was  half  asleep  and  very  com- 
fortable, put  her  little  arms  about  his  neck  as  she 
was  wont  to  put  them  around  the  Captain's,  and 
said,  "Very  much." 

He  put  her  down  at  last,  very  tenderly,  almost 
unwillingly,  and  left  the  children  alone.  By-and- 
by  he  returned,  dressed  in  the  blue  cloak,  and  took 
Dora  up  again. 

"  I  will  see  you  home,"  he  said. 

The  children  had  not  been  missed.  The  clock 
had  only  just  struck  nine  when  there  came  a  knock 


The  Peace  Egg.  309 

on  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  where  the  Captain 
and  his  wife  still  sat  by  the  Yule  log.  She  said 
"  Come  in,"  wearil}-,  thinking  it  was  the  frumenty 
and  the  Christmas  cakes. 

But  it  was  her  father,  with  her  child  in  his  arms  ! 


VIII. 


The  Captain  had  many  friends  who  knew  of  the 
sad  estrangement  between  his  wife  and  her  father. 
Some  of  them  were  in  church  the  next  day,  which 
was  Christmas  Day,  when  the  Captain's  wife  came 
in.  They  would  have  hid  their  faces,  but  for  the 
startling  sight  that  met  the  gaze  of  the  congrega- 
tion. The  old  grandfather  walked  into  church 
abreast  of  theCaptain. 

' '  They've  met  in  the  porch, "  whispered  one  under 
the  shelter  of  his  hat. 

"They  can't  quarrel  publicly  in  a  place  of  wor- 
ship," said  another,  turning  pale. 

"  She's  gone  into  his  seat,"  cried  a  girl  in  a  shrill 
whisper. 

"  And  the  children  after  her,"  added  her  sister, 
incautiously  aloud. 

There  was  now  no  doubt  about  the  matter.  The 
old  man  in  his  blue  cloak  stood  for  a  few  moments 
politely  disputing  the  question  of  precedence  with 
his  handsome  son-in-law.  Then  the  Captain  bowed 
and  passed  in,  and  the  old  man  followed  him. 

By  the  time  that  the  service  was  ended  everybody 
knew  of  the  happy  peacemaking,  and  was  glad. 
One  old  friend  after  another  came  up  with  bless- 
ings and  good  wishes.  This  was  a  proper  Christ- 
mas, indeed,  they  said.  There  was  a  general  re- 
joicing. 

But  only  the  grandfather  and  his  children  knew 
that  it  was  hatched  from  "  The  Peace  Bgg.'^ 


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